Devil's Due
by Fellowshipper
Summary: When Gangrel returns to collect a long-overdue debt, neither Edge nor Christian will ever be the same.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Devil's Due   
Disclaimer: If I owned them, Christian would go back to the frilly poet shirt to provide me with endless entertainment.   
Rating: R for violence, language, and allusions to m/m slash and child abuse. Lookit me, kids, I'm taboo!  
Continuance Note: Hm. Somewhere between the time E&C broke up and the roster split. Heh.  
  
Notes: Christian is, quite simply, one of the best examples of character development. How in the course of a couple years does one go from hanging with alleged vampires to being a clueless valley boy? Ask him. This would be where the two collide. I hope you find it reeking of awesomeness and not just reeking. :)  
  
-----------  
  
There was something oddly satisfying about eating an ice cream cone topped with rocky road and sprinkles in front of someone lifting weights.   
  
Edge grinned to himself at the thought and took an indulgent bite into the ice cream, ignoring the shock his mouth felt from the cold and focusing instead on the narrow-eyed glare he was receiving from his friend.   
  
"You are one selfish jerk," Matt Hardy grumbled bitterly, grunting from the strain of the weight in his hand as he fought to bring it to his shoulder. The door to his locker room opened, followed quickly by Lita and an ice cream cone of her own, this one with straight chocolate -- but three generous scoops of it.   
  
"Mmm. Hey, Edge, thanks for pointing out that vendor to me," she clapped her friend on the shoulder with her free hand before settling down beside him on the bench. Edge shrugged.   
  
"Et tu?" Matt whimpered with a longing glance to the ice cream his friends were enjoying in front of him. Lita grinned innocently. Even while she had enough mercy to leave the matter alone, the same could not be said of Edge.   
  
"Fast metabolism so *totally* rules all!" He announced with a toothy smile. Fast reflexes came in handy, too, since they were the only way he avoided being hit in the head with a water bottle that Matt 'happened' to let slip from his hand. "Aw, don't be upset, Matty. It's not your fault I can single-handedly keep Baskin Robbins in business and spend two hours a week in a gym."  
  
Matt huffed in frustration and wordlessly switched the weight over to his left hand.  
  
"Hey, if it's any consolation at all, you had a good match tonight."   
  
"That s'posed t'mean somethin' t'me?"   
  
"Anyone ever tell you your accent gets a lot thicker when you're mad?" Edge asked casually, licking the last remaining bits of ice cream from his fingertips and then wiggling them at Matt. "Anyway, I gotta go. Got an early flight tomorrow and I do need my beauty rest after all."   
  
Matt snorted, but was quickly silenced by a kick to his shin when Lita noticed he was going to say something sarcastic in reply. Edge shook his head in amusement and headed out of the locker room door, readjusting the shoulder strap of his duffel bag as he walked out into the parking lot. The overhead street lamps provided little light for human eyes, yet he could see perfectly fine and with more clarity than any person had a right to do.   
  
He yawned, stopping beside the small black Saturn he'd rented the previous night to unlock it. It was a nice little car, and he was sorely tempted to either buy it or steal it. Both seemed like decent options. Then again, he had never been known for his exceptional judgment.   
  
Edge tossed his baggage into the backseat and shut the door, hand on the driver's side handle when he caught a hauntingly familiar scent. It smelled strangely of death and dried blood, a scent much too faint for humans to detect. Thankfully enough, as he nearly choked on the smell.   
  
A glimmer of movement in the shadows to his left made him spin around, back against the car and eyes wide in uneasy fear. The scent was definitely coming from that area, and there was only one person he could think of who could be causing it. Much as he stared into the blackness given by the shrubbery lining the edge of the parking lot, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, he turned and took off at a brisk pace back towards the arena, almost jogging but still trying to maintain a bit of his calm.   
  
Matt looked up at hearing the door crash open against the inside wall of his room, surprised to see his friend looking frantically around. "Uh . . . the ice cream guy's not here, man."   
  
"Have you seen Christian?"   
  
Matt frowned. "What happened? He didn't slash your tires again, did he?"   
  
"No. Where is he?"   
  
"I-I dunno. Did you check his dressing room?"   
  
Edge ran a helpless hand through his hair, serving only to mess it up further. "Yeah. He's not there. I gotta find him, though. Now."   
  
Lita glanced up from where she was going through her purse. "I saw him talking to Booker T earlier. You might wanna check there."   
  
Without another word, Edge darted out of the doorway and down the hallway, leaving two very confused friends behind him. They were not nearly half as confused, however, as Christian and his companion were when the door flew open to reveal a panic-stricken Edge.   
  
"What the hell are you doing in here?" Christian demanded, obviously and, Edge admitted to himself, understandably surprised by the intrusion. Booker T turned indignant eyes to meet Edge's.   
  
"You get lost or somethin', sucka?"   
  
"Get out."   
  
"Hey, this is *my* dressing room!" Booker T protested, to no avail; he was pushed out the door anyway.   
  
"You're nuts!" Christian exclaimed, more than a little lost as to why his older brother and recent enemy was busy throwing things into an empty suitcase and spilling more things into the floor in his nervousness. "You got one minute to explain your--"   
  
"Get out of here!" Edge barked the order, throwing the luggage at Christian. It landed on the floor with a loud thud. "I'll answer later, just get out."   
  
"I'm not goin' anywhere!"   
  
"Look, Christian, don't screw with me right now!" Edge sprang across the room quicker than any human could accomplish, one hand around his brother's throat and lifting him a couple inches off the ground. "You've gotta get out. I promise, I'll explain everything when --"   
  
He was never given a chance to finish. The door once again came open, this time to show a man in black jeans and a white dress shirt, curly blond hair left in a careless mess about his head. He removed his sunglasses and gave a feral smile that left Edge chilled to the point he dropped Christian to the floor.   
  
"Shit!" Christian cursed sharply when he connected with the hard ground. He was still rubbing his backside as he stood. That was when he saw the face of one who had, more or less, always scared him senseless. "Grel! Uh . . . hey. Long time, no see."   
  
"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" The man asked, the smile never fading in the least. Edge turned his eyes to the floor when the man turned his attention towards him. "You're not going to greet me?"   
  
"I don't have anything to say to you."   
  
"Oh, Edge, I know we parted on what certainly weren't the best of terms, but you're not going to deny a simple hello to your maker, are you?"   
  
Christian rolled his eyes and picked his suitcase up off the floor. "Please. Quit with the 'Gother-than-Thou' talk, huh? You guys wanna go drink blood or terrorize people or whatever it is that you do for fun, go right ahead. I've got better things to do."   
  
"Actually," Gangrel blocked Christian's path towards the door, "I was thinking we could spend the night . . . catching up. A boy's night out, if you will."   
  
Christian arched his eyebrows. "Sounds fun, Grel, really. I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty nail, though. No offense or anything." He shot a hateful look towards his brother, only to see he seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Incase you haven't noticed, me an' Goldilocks don't get along too well anymore."   
  
"You're children. You'll fight over toys and women and such, but you're also blood." Gangrel patted Christian affectionately on the cheek, though his eyes were fixed on Edge. "Don't ever forget that."   
  
"I'm working on forgetting that."   
  
"Then I say the three of us go out tonight and get reacquainted, maybe see if we can't patch up some of those differences."   
  
Christian threw his luggage back on the ground, careless that its contents spilled across the floor. "You don't take no very easily, do you?"   
  
Gangrel's smile turned into a vicious mockery of benevolence, the same look reflected in his eyes. He turned his attention to Edge, who shrunk away from the look. "I never have, child. Your brother would know that better than most. And soon," he went on, sliding a companionable arm around Christian's shoulders and guiding him toward the door, "you will, too."   
  
Half an hour later, Gangrel and Edge sat across from each other in a padded booth of a trendy club Edge hadn't cared enough to catch the name of. He was idly running his index finger around the rim of the half-empty beer bottle in front of him, desperately trying to ignore the man across from him. His attempts were in vain, however, and what was worse was that he knew it.   
  
Gangrel wouldn't quit grinning, and it was really beginning to irritate him.   
  
"He's really come out of his shell the past few years, hasn't he?" Gangrel asked more to himself than his companion, watching Christian at the bar, chatting up a woman who appeared somewhat more interested in what he had to say than giggling with her friend about how cute they both thought he was. "He used to be so quiet and withdrawn . . . it's good to see him opening up a little." He fell silent a moment, taking a drink from his glass of water while turning his eyes back to Edge. "I don't suppose it was all your doing."   
  
"Christian does his own thing and I do mine."   
  
"Or so you'd like to believe."   
  
Edge sighed in exasperation, leaning back against the wall of the booth and closing his eyes. "We both know why you're here, okay? Stop trying to act like you're my friend. I won't let you have him."   
  
"Do you intend to fight me?"   
  
Edge gave a faint nod, despite the amusement in Gangrel's voice. "If I have to."   
  
"Your bravery would be admirable if you weren't so young and stupid," Gangrel complimented, downing the rest of his drink and pushing the glass aside. He leaned forward, folding his hands atop the table and letting the small hanging lamp overhead shine more light on his face. Edge silently wondered if it was an intentional gesture of intimidation. "When you were a child, did your mother ever tell you the story about the young girl who was forced to spin hay into gold? Then someone came along, promising her the gold in return for her firstborn child. She went on about her life, never expecting him . . . and then he showed up. Do you remember that?"   
  
"Rumplestiltskin. What's your point?"   
  
Gangrel gave another grin, this time broad enough to show the tips of sharp, blood stained fangs. "Don't you wish you could just say my name and make me disappear?" He paused to cast another glance to Christian, smiling to himself at some private joke Edge didn't care to know. "You sold your soul to the devil long before you ran into me, boy. And when you needed it most, finding yourself with no soul to sell, you sold your brother's. You know the terms of our deal, Edge."   
  
Edge flinched before dropping his elbows noisily onto the table, sending his bottle crashing to the floor and breaking into hundreds of tiny shards of glass. He paid it little attention. "I change my mind."   
  
Gangrel laughed quietly, leaning back to once again let the shadows swallow him. "Yes. So did the girl in the story." Another silent pause followed as he took a moment to watch Christian. "Pity. He's so young and vulnerable. I think it's really quiet fortunate someone would take him in before he gets himself into trouble."   
  
"Not if that person wants to change him into a monster."   
  
"Monster, Edge, is all a matter of perspective."   
  
"Maybe so, but I'm pretty sure I can speak for most people by saying anything that has to live by preying off other people could be considered a monster."   
  
Gangrel, either not having anything to say in return or simply not caring to answer, remained silent. Edge took the opportunity to let his head rest in his hands, trying to decide just how badly Christian would hurt him once he finally learned the truth. Christian had known all along about Gangrel and Edge both being vampires, and it was no small miracle he'd managed to keep that particular secret to himself for so long. The one thing he didn't know, and what Edge had prayed he wouldn't find out, was exactly how that had come about in the first place.   
  
What seemed to Edge like an eternity ago, he and Christian had been a perfectly normal pair of brothers, arguing over what to watch on television or the touchy subject of dating the other brother's ex-girlfriend. Christian, though, was the tame one of the pair, more often than not spending his nights at home torturing himself with one term paper or another or trying to write the perfect application for whatever college was his favorite at the time. Meanwhile, his brother, never one to be content with the straight and narrow path, seemed to constantly get a kick out of flirting with death and disaster. Edge had never seen himself to be the textbook definition of a suicidal maniac, as Christian frequently told him, but in retrospect he could easily see how Christian was lead to that conclusion.   
  
His love for hanging around the worst possible people he could was almost as addictive to him as the heroin he did nearly anything to keep in his blood. It came as little surprise to those who knew him well that he already had an extensive police record before his eighteenth birthday. Shoplifting and other forms of robbery were kid stuff to him by the time Gangrel found him in an alleyway one night in mid-January, curled against a chainlink fence with his arms around his knees and trembling violently, sweating profusely despite the snow falling around them.   
  
It certainly wasn't the most dignified way to die, becoming another OD'd teen with a reputation to add to the long list of statistics. He could only vaguely recall bits and pieces about that night, remembering only that Gangrel had been a terrifying figure to him dressed all in black and that Edge had mistaken him for the grim reaper. Somehow able to force the words out, he'd asked if this man standing before him was the angel of death. Edge remembered all-too-clearly Gangrel's eyes glinting with a hint of red before he knelt in front of him.   
  
"To some, yes. To you . . . I can be a savior." Edge shivered at feeling Gangrel's long fingers tracing the outline of his jaws. His flesh was cold as ice, a stark contrast to Edge's own feverish skin. Gangrel had come closer, pressing Edge closer against the fence and leaving their foreheads touching. "I can save you, child, make you see things as you've never seen them before, let you taste things that are far more addictive and pleasing than whatever poison is killing you right now. But what, I wonder, could you do for me in return?"   
  
Edge whimpered, the tremors increasing in intensity and making him wish this strange person across from him would either save him or let him die with at least some of his self-respect still intact. Unfortunately, the man appeared to be taking a sadistic pleasure in watching the boy now in his arms suffer.   
  
"You're dying," he whispered in the boy's ear, soliciting a pitiful mewling sound that only the insanely desperate can manage. "I can save you. Just promise me what you can."   
  
Driven mad by the whole situation, Edge whispered, "my brother. You can . . . have him."   
  
"Done."   
  
Before Edge could say anything else, Gangrel pulled him into his lap and tilted his chin up so that he was forced to stare up at the sky, squinting from the snow falling down into his eyes. "This will hurt for only a moment."   
  
"Well, I suppose now would be as good a time as any to bring him into the family," Gangrel announced, knocking Edge from his inner reverie. He blinked twice, disappointed to see they were still seated in the booth and that Christian was still perched atop a bar stool, something of a smirk on his lips. He turned and noticed the two staring at him, then held up a small piece of paper and gave a thumbs up sign.   
  
"Please," Edge begged with a new sincerity, looking back to Gangrel, "I'll find someone else for you. Just don't . . . don't do this to him."   
  
"It's been my understanding recently that you and he really don't care much for one another anyway."   
  
"Well --"   
  
"Have I been misinformed?"   
  
"No, but --"   
  
"Then it shouldn't bother you as much as you pretend it is. A conscience is a terrible thing to have, Edge, but don't worry. You'll lose it soon enough," Gangrel assured with a pat on the hand and a cruel sneer that turned pleasant as soon as Christian came to stand beside the table. "Well?"   
  
Christian beamed proudly and tucked the paper into his jacket pocket. "Heather, single, a local model, and one hundred percent scorchcake!"   
  
Gangrel raised a single pierced eyebrow. "I'm assuming that means you like her."   
  
"Dude. She's totally reeking of babe-age!"   
  
"Christian, dear," Gangrel sighed quietly, rising from his seat and motioning Edge to do the same, "I think I liked you better when you stayed quiet. You caused fewer headaches that way." Once all three of them were standing, he ushered the brothers out the door and immediately set to work on hailing a taxi. Christian huffed loudly and shot Edge an angry look, annoyed with his pacing in a tight circle.   
  
"Would you stop it, you dorkchop? You're making me dizzy."   
  
"Christian, wouldn't you like to go for a walk or something?" Edge asked with a certain urgency in his voice that made Christian temporarily forget his irritation.   
  
Gangrel turned, a not so friendly pair of eyes fixed on Edge. "No need for that, boys. I think our problems have been solved." He moved his arm out towards the road to indicate the yellow cab pulling to the curb. As a show of goodwill, he opened the door and let Christian go in first, stopping Edge before he could jump inside as well. Edge tried not to appear too distressed by the bony hand that rested on the small of his back or the mouth at his ear.   
  
"Try another move like that, boy, and I'll just skip the trouble and kill him. It makes no difference to me."   
  
"I'd rather you killed him than turn him into a monster."   
  
Gangrel chuckled under his breath, stepping back enough for Edge to get in the cab's backseat. "We'll see." 


	2. 2

Edge watched with barely concealed hatred from his spot on the bed, back against the headboard and a book open in his lap. Not that he really had any idea what book it even was; he'd grabbed it from Christian's bag. So far it seemed like the same goofy science fiction junk Christian had been reading since they were children. Well, in his defense, the words had gotten bigger and the clothes of the alien women on the cover had gotten racier, so maybe they weren't *exactly* the same. Nevertheless, Edge feigned interest in the book and tried his best to ignore Gangrel and Christian's conversation about, of all things, hockey. Actually, Gangrel was pretending to pay attention while Christian wanted someone to rant to because his beloved Mapleleafs had just suffered a humiliating defeat.   
  
He would not listen. He would not let his conscience get to him. He would read the book and listen to his headphones and let Gangrel do whatever the hell it was he wanted with Christian, and then it would all be over. Of course, that all sounded good on paper. Sitting there watching Gangrel eying Christian like a piece of meat, though, made Edge seriously begin to doubt his foolproof scheme.   
  
"So the goalie missed a shot he *so* should've caught, and then --"   
  
"Chris, please," Gangrel pleaded, holding his hand up palm out. "I've never watched hockey in my life and I really have no interest in it. Would you mind finding something else to talk about?"   
  
Christian poked his chin out. "What's wrong with hockey?" Noticing Gangrel's scowl, Christian huffed indignantly and walked to the doors leading out to the balcony. He parted the curtains enough to look out at the landscape, at the bright lights and the bustling city life at ground level, and said the first thing that came to mind.   
  
"I hate Boston."   
  
"Why?"   
  
Christian shrugged while opening the doors and walking out onto the balcony. "I think it's the accent."   
  
"As opposed to 'aboot'?" Gangrel teased, getting to his feet and joining Christian on the balcony. Christian shot a disdainful look over his shoulder.   
  
"When did you get a sense of humor?"   
  
Gangrel offered an unsettling smile in return. "I've always had one, Chris. You just need to pay more attention."   
  
Oh God, Edge whimpered inwardly, masochistic curiosity making him watch the pair on the balcony rather than the book. He'd turned the CD player down so as to listen in on their conversation, though what purpose he really thought that would serve in the end was far beyond him. Get away from him, Christian, get away, get away, get away . . . he repeated the mantra in his head over and over again as if by some miracle his brother would pick up on it and heed his advice.   
  
Christian, naturally, was by no means telepathic, and so stayed on the balcony completely oblivious to the intentions of the man behind him. "There a reason why you just suddenly popped up all of a sudden?"   
  
Gangrel didn't answer right away, taking the opportunity to walk to Christian's side and lean his elbows on the metal railing. The tongue ring in his mouth clicked restlessly against the back of his teeth, the tell-tale evidence he was deep in thought about something or other. Christian ground his own teeth together in annoyance.   
  
"Okay, dude, stop it. That's freaky."   
  
He complied, but not without a tiny smirk. "I got to thinking about you and Edge and I thought I'd check up on you. You've always been my favorites, you know."   
  
By favorites, Christian noted to himself, Gangrel meant the untold number of vampires he'd encountered in his long life. That just made the statement that much more troublesome. "But I'm not . . ."   
  
"A vampire?" Gangrel supplied when Christian trailed off. "I forget sometimes. You'll forgive me, of course." Though more of an order than request, Christian nodded anyway. "Well then. What have you been doing while I was away?"   
  
"Burning bridges, throwing tantrums, being a loser scraping the bowels of sucktitude."   
  
"So not much has changed."   
  
"Asshole."   
  
Gangrel grinned to himself. "You're too quick with your judgment, little one."   
  
"Don't call me that!" Christian almost shrieked, loudly enough to make Edge pull his headphones off momentarily. He waited until his brother turned deaf ears to him again before continuing. "I've told you not to call me that."   
  
"My apologies," Gangrel assured, hands out in a placating gesture. "I must be getting forgetful in my old age."   
  
"Yeah," Christian agreed easily, flicking a shriveled cigarette butt off the railing and watching it as it fluttered down and out of sight. "What've you been up to?"   
  
Gangrel shrugged careless shoulders. "Drinking the blood of sleeping infants, working for Satan, overrunning small civilizations . . ."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"No," Gangrel confessed with a sigh, "but when you've lived as long as I have, you have to make these things up to make life sound more interesting than it really is."   
  
"Well, can't you, like, just change yourself back to a human or something?"   
  
"There is no turning back, little one."   
  
Christian wheeled around sharply on his heel to once again yell at the older man, but he stopped short at the expression on Gangrel's face. Sharp, pointed fangs with blood-stained tips stood out against his pale lips, the street lights nearby reflecting in the enamel.   
  
"Okay, that's just really freaking disgusting."   
  
Gangrel didn't respond, only came closer until he had Christian pinned against the banister. Christian watched him nervously as he reached over to push his long blond hair over his shoulder and away from his face -- his neck, Christian realized after a panicked moment.   
  
"Whoa, hold on a minute, you Dracula-wannabe reekazoid. I'm not your dinner, alright?"   
  
Edge looked up in time to see Gangrel move in for the proverbial kill, gripping Christian's hips tightly and keeping him from moving while he sank his teeth into the side of his throat. Christian jerked involuntarily, gripping the banister tightly, mouth working but making no sounds, stuck open in a perpetual silent scream. His eyes flicked over Gangrel's shoulder to meet Edge's, frightened and pleading.   
  
"Gangrel, I..." Edge trailed off, knowing the other man wasn't listening to him. He twisted his hands, unsure of what his next move should be. He had, after all, promised his brother to Gangrel, and there really wasn't much he could do about that. But then again, it also wasn't much of an option to watch his baby brother suffer before his very eyes, rivalry or not.   
  
"God, I hate my life," he groaned, smacking his forehead before taking off at a dead run for the balcony. He jumped and was in mid-flight when he hooked his arms underneath Christian's and sent them both hurtling over the side. Wrestling with his brother's weight and trying to concentrate enough to keep them from both hitting the street below them, as well as blocking out Gangrel's infuriated yelling, he turned Christian's head to the side and bit down on his tongue to send his own blood into the open wound, closing it instantly.   
  
That was when Christian came to, and he began writhing wildly when he saw the cars and street lamps glittering beneath them.   
  
"Holy shit!" he cried, clawing at Edge's arms and digging his nails into the flesh in his sudden fear. "You got me away from him to make me a road pancake? You idiot, put me down!"   
  
"Shut up and stop moving, or I *will* drop you," Edge threatened through clenched teeth. It was taking all his concentration to keep them in the air and rack his brain for a good temporary hiding place, and that wasn't helped by his brother's terrified act. Minutes later he did a nosedive into a thickly wooded area just on the outskirts of the city, making them both plow into a pile of leaves and moss.   
  
"This," Christian started, rubbing the back of his head, "this might be considered a step backward, asshole."   
  
"Shh."   
  
"Why, so you can drop me into a bottomless pit next time?"   
  
"Shut up!" Edge ordered, clamping his hand down over Christian's mouth as he did so. He pointed up with his other hand to the hole in the canopy provided by the trees, and Christian shuddered slightly when a familiar silhouette went soaring overhead. It took several hour-long minutes before Christian found his voice again and was actually able to use it without Edge attempting to strangle him.   
  
"What ... the hell ... is this all about?" He asked pointedly, making sure each word was emphasized with sharp anger. Edge leaned back onto his haunches, watching wordlessly as his brother stood and began brushing off his backside.   
  
"You know how Gangrel switches loyalties."   
  
"Yeah, but . . ." He trailed off, making a disgusted face when his hand encountered something wet and soggy clinging to his pants. "Ewwww."   
  
Edge, having no interest in his little brother's problem, dropped his head into his hands and tried to figure out some sort of solution to the mess he had gotten them both neck-deep into.   
  
"So," Christian broke the silence, hands on hips and restlessly kicking at a pile of leaves. "What now?" Not given an answer or even any indication at all that he had been heard, Christian kicked his brother lightly in the ribs.  
  
"You prick, stop that!"   
  
"Listen, dweeboid, your buddy just tried to eat me. I think I'm entitled to some answers, don't you?" Again greeted only with silence, he huffed and blew a strand of blond hair from his face. "This has been fun and everything. You try to kill me in my locker room, I hit on a chick I'll probably never see again, Gangrel goes all Hannibal Lector on me, we go on a nice flight and land in fucking Sherwood Forest, get chased by said Hannibal psycho...it's been a real riot. If you'll excuse me, I think I'm just gonna go lay down in the street or something and --"   
  
"No."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
Edge dragged his eyes up to meet Christian's, appearing for all the world to be impossibly weary and depressed. "You're not leaving alone. I won't let you."   
  
Christian snorted harshly, a shrill, short laugh that never failed to grate on Edge's nerves. "I'm sorry, you seem to be under the impression that I really give a damn about what you want. You can sit here and commune with nature or attack a little bunny and drink its blood for all I care. I've had enough adventure for one night, and I'm going back to my hotel room and drinking myself into a coma."   
  
"Christian, he'll find you on your own. Hell, I'm not even promising I can keep him from finding you if we're together, but at least you stand a better chance."   
  
"I'm not scared of him!" Christian shrieked, expression wild. "Yeah, he got a sneak attack in on me, but I'm ready for him this time."   
  
"You're an idiot."   
  
"And you're a self-centered egotistical bastard. What's your point?"   
  
"Would you shut up and stop arguing and listen to me for once in your life?" Edge cried desperately, stunning Christian into silence with his outburst. "Look, Christian, he's after you, okay? We both know that, and he's not gonna stop until he gets you. If you go off by yourself, he'll find you -- and, if you're lucky, he'll kill you."   
  
"I think you're a little confused."   
  
"It's better than being turned into . . ." Edge stopped himself, shaking his head and refusing to complete his statement. "Anyway, we're going to have to figure out a way to throw him off your trail for a while. Maybe I can talk to him and change his mind."   
  
Christian stared blankly at Edge before scratching behind his head, roughing his hair up even more than it already was. "He's going to find me, isn't he?"   
  
Though he wanted with all he had inside of him to reassure Christian and fool him into taking false hope, Edge could only meet his gaze steadily and nod. "Yeah, he is. I'm just hoping I can talk to him before that happens."   
  
"Well, shit," Christian grumbled, sinking back down onto the soft forest floor. "Story of my life. I can't call the girl of my dreams because I'm busy being stalked by a psychotic three-hundred-year old vampire. Why do these things always happen to me, huh?"   
  
"Because you're related to me and there's a black cloud hanging over our heads?"   
  
"Ah, that must be it." Christian sighed quietly, intently watching a moth flying nearby, illuminated by the moonlight. "What do we do now?"   
  
"Are you religious?"   
  
"Um . . . not really, no. Why?"   
  
"Then I suggest you pick a god to start praying to." 


	3. 3

"Shane, please. I've never asked you for anything."   
  
Shane McMahon was many things, young business mogul and generally pleasant person among them. He was not, however, a pushover, and it was that particular aspect of his personality that was making Edge's life rather difficult.   
  
"So let me get this straight," Shane interrupted, rubbing his temples and swaying back and forth a bit in his leather office chair. "You and Christian both want to go on vacation for some unknown amount of time, to go to some unknown place, for some reason you won't tell me about." Edge nodded, to which Shane raised an eyebrow. "What makes me think you two airheads joined the mob while I wasn't looking and you're trying to ditch a body somewhere?"   
  
"Well, we're . . . uh . . . looking for some personal bonding time, y'know? We're trying to mend burned bridges and all that."   
  
"Uh huh."   
  
"Honest!"   
  
Shane shook his head sadly, putting his hand over his eyes. "Seriously, Edge -- do you really think I'm that stupid? I'm not that much older than you, you know. I know you probably just wanna go fool around and get paid for it."   
  
Edge tried his best "shucks, you caught me" grin but ended up looking like a frightened deer instead. "We really won't be gone *too* long, Shane, I promise. Just long enough to get things straightened out."   
  
Though he appeared more than a little skeptical, Shane waved his hand and signed the paper in front of him; it was Edge's request for personal leave for both himself and his brother. "Alright, alright, fine. But just incase you two get thrown in jail for public drunkenness or something just as stupid, you don't work for me or my father. Got it?"   
  
"Got it. Thanks."   
  
"No problem. Oh, and on your way out, will you tell Julie to hunt down some Tylenol?"   
  
Once he stepped out of the elevator when it reached the lobby of the office building, Edge neared Christian and caught himself smiling lightly to see Christian curled up on a couch, sound asleep and oblivious to the bustling office workers around him. Edge had roused him from a deep sleep barely before seven a.m., insisting they go to see Shane about some time off and then embarking on a potentially deadly road trip. Christian, being Christian, had cursed and kicked and then rolled over and pulled the blanket up over his head. Consequently, Edge had more or less dragged him out to the car and driven the short distance from their hotel in New Jersey to their company's headquarters, hoping against hope it would be one of those rare days when Shane decided to show up before noon.   
  
"Hey," he started, shaking Christian's shoulder gently. All he received was a grumbled protest. "Chris, c'mon, man. We gotta go."   
  
"Go 'way," Christian moaned into the couch cushions.   
  
"Christian, don't make me have to carry you again."   
  
"Hey Edge."   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Go screw yourself." Christian rolled over and glared up at his brother, stuck his tongue out, and then promptly rolled back onto his side and pushed himself against the cushions, making it quite clear he had no intentions on leaving anytime soon.   
  
"It's funny. I thought you were cute when I first came in, looking all like a little kid and everything curled up asleep. You're the only person I know who could completely ruin that image in under a minute."   
  
"My heart's breaking, Edge, really. It is. Now leave me alone."   
  
"I'm not telling you again to get up off the couch."   
  
Not given any hint of a response, Edge shrugged and motioned for the burly security guard at the door to come closer. The next thing Christian knew, he was on all fours thanks to the couch being tilted up to a ninety degree angle on its end. He glared up at Edge, who was currently shaking the guard's hand and thanking him for the help, and he couldn't quite think of a comment rude enough to make, so he settled for flipping him off and resentfully picking himself up off the ground and brushing the knees of his jeans off.   
  
"I tried to tell you."   
  
"I'm not talking to you," Christian mumbled almost incoherently, shooting a hateful glance at the guard as he pushed his way through the revolving doors, hoping against hope he could manage to smack Edge in the face as he did. Or, better yet, squish him. Neither happened, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and silently fumed the whole way across the street to where his brother's Rodeo was parked, but not without having a close encounter with a taxi driver who rounded the corner and very nearly ran him down.   
  
"I swear to God, I wish Gangrel would just find me and get it over with already," he groused sorely, climbing into the front passenger seat before anything more could happen to him. "I think I'd be safer."   
  
"Would you please stop complaining for at least a few minutes?" Edge pleaded while searching for his keys and then starting the car. Immediately, Christian reached for the CD player's buttons, but he pulled away when his hand was smacked. "Hey, no. You remember the rules. Driver picks."   
  
"You're not the one being chased by some bad Anne Rice throwback!"   
  
Edge considered the remark, then sighed in resignation. "Fine. But no rap, country, gospel . . ." He paused, smirking. "Well, maybe it'd help you if you tried listening to gospel."   
  
"Have I mentioned today how very much I hate you?"   
  
"Not yet, but you've only been awake for maybe twenty minutes altogether."   
  
Christian opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, then closed it when no decent comeback came to mind. After finding a local rock station, he directed his attention out the window, watching with little interest as people filed past on their way to work. Normal people. He was willing to bet that they didn't have stalkers. He envied them their simple, pathetic little humdrum lives of work, home, golf course, repeat.   
  
"You okay?"   
  
Knocked from his thoughts, he nodded absentmindedly, then reminded himself he was supposed to be mad at Edge and not speaking to him. "Leave me alone."   
  
Unfortunately for Christian, Edge was used to his moody attitude and knew by then the anger was mostly just for show. "Chris, look. I'm sorry about all this, okay? And I promise, when we get it all straightened out, I'll try to explain what I can. But for now you're just gonna have to trust me and go along with it." He stopped at a red light, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel in time to the song playing that he couldn't recognize offhand. "Even though I should probably just let you get whatever you've got coming to you after what happened in September, I'm trying to help you out."   
  
"You're probably leading me right to him so you can have a big pig roast or something."   
  
"Nah. I don't think your mouth's big enough to fit an apple in it." Edge grinned innocently at the shocked look he was given. "Joking. I know it's big enough."   
  
"Hey Edge, guess what?"   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"You're a dick and I hate you and I wish plague and pestilence on your unborn children."   
  
Edge laughed quietly as he took an on-ramp to the main highway. Sometimes, it was like they had never parted ways.   
  
******  
  
It was probably a bad sign that Edge was still up and pacing at nearly two a.m. Far be it for him to realize that, though, hence the reason he walked an unerring path from the far end of the small motel room to the bathroom to the door and back again. Several hours of straight driving with no real cares as to where they were going had drained both he and Christian, who'd ended up taking turns at the wheel once Christian finally decided to stay awake. They had been making fairly good time, only making stops every few hours for food and bathroom breaks. That was the only reason Edge could find that explained how they were already in Indiana. Christian's frequent whining about being tired finally convinced Edge to check into a Motel 6 sometime just past eleven p.m. for the rest of the night. Of course he would never admit as much to his brother, but he was tired as well and wished vehemently for sleep to claim him every time he closed his eyes.   
  
The only problem with that was that every time his eyes slid shut, long-buried memories creeped back to the surface, and he found himself a scared teenage boy on the brink of death, huddled in an alley and praying for an angel to appear out of the snow. All he'd been given was the devil in disguise, and like a fool he'd fallen prey to him.   
  
So, rather than spend the night scaring himself with the memory playing over and over in his mind, he paced. Constantly. Sometimes fast, other times slow, but always pacing. He'd stopped long enough to go out to the car and get a can of Mellow Yellow from the cooler in the backseat, but then he always returned to pacing. As proof of how very tired he really was, Christian had only yelled at him about it twice before giving up and going to sleep.   
  
Edge rounded on his heel when he reached the door, sipping from his almost empty can of soda and watching his baby brother. The fact Christian was even alive at all was testament to his stubborn nature. Their father, jewel of a husband that he was, sent their mother into premature labor while pregnant with her second child. Edge couldn't recall the entire ordeal, having been only two and a half at the time, but some nights if he tried hard enough he could vaguely remember seeing his brother in the incubator, tiny body covered with tubes and wires and dwarfed by his surroundings. He hadn't been expected to live but, as he would come to do so many times later, Christian spat in the face of all those who doubted him and grew bigger, stronger, until he was finally released from the hospital and into his parents' care.   
  
"Go," a voice mumbled, muffled and almost incoherent. It took a moment for it to register in Edge's mind that Christian was tossing and fighting some invisible enemy and succeeding only in wrapping the blankets impossibly tight around himself. "Ungh," he groaned miserably, whimpering slightly as he did so. Too used to his brother's frequent nightmares, Edge crossed the distance between them in two long-legged strides and seated himself at the foot of the bed, nudging Christian in attempts to wake him up. The smaller blonde's eyes immediately snapped open; he shot back against the headboard, eyes terrified and a gaping mouth to accompany them.  
  
"Edge?" He asked meekly after a bewildered moment. The slight nod was all the answer he needed; he dove into the open arms before him and broke down into a mess of frazzled nerves, trembling violently and sobbing against the shoulder presented to him. The room and the entire world faded away, leaving nothing but he and Edge's arms wrapped protectively around him, Edge's hand running over and through his hair, Edge's uncharacteristically soft voice delivering a chant of comforting words.   
  
"Shh," Edge soothed, trying in vain to quiet his brother's pained crying. "Shh, Chris, don't cry. Don't cry, buddy, it's okay. It's alright. Everything's okay. No one's gonna hurt you now, you're safe. Shhh." To his surprise, Christian's sobbing became much more pronounced, and Edge clutched onto the small body in his arms as if he could keep the sobs from ripping it apart. "Oh, God...Chris, please don't cry ..."   
  
He poked his nose into the messy blond hair atop Christian's head, fighting to keep his own tears at bay. For Christian's sake, he had to be the strong one now, he had to keep from falling apart just to keep Christian even somewhat calm. He felt fingers digging into his back as Christian tightened his grip, holding on for dear life, and he began rocking his brother gently back and forth, trying everything he knew to ease his troubled breathing and choking gasps for air. "Chris...Chris, you're gonna have to calm down, okay? I want you to try to calm down." He pressed a kiss to Christian's temple, wishing for all the world he knew how to take all the pain from his baby brother. Too much of his life had been spent this way, trying to lull Christian back to sleep after whatever demon creeped into his dreams in the middle of the night. Worse still was the knowledge that most of the nightmares were caused by memories rather than an overactive imagination. Their childhoods had not been happy by any means, and even while they were both quite successful as adults, the gods of fate had neglected to end their game of plaguing Christian's nights with recycled memories to torture him.   
  
Though he would admit it to no one and was terribly offended whenever it was even suggested, Christian was emotionally dependent on his older brother once the sun went down and memories came creeping to the edge of his mind. Edge was the only one who could drive them back, keep him sane, or put him back together after a nightmare shredded his every sense of peace. The nightmares had haunted him for as long as he could remember, and he always had a different way of dealing with them. At times he would wake up screaming, crying, and throwing any object within reach. Others he would wake himself up with his tears and bite down on his hand in a desperate attempt to keep his sobs to barely audible muffles for fear Edge would hear him. Still other times, usually after a particularly vivid nightmare, he would crawl into bed with his brother, shaking and crying hysterically and rambling in a jumble of nonsensical words, just to prove to himself he was awake and the events in his dreams couldn't touch him.  
  
"Make it go away," he pleaded in a pitifully small voice, wavering with fright but nevertheless hopeful. Edge pulled him away just enough to cup his face in his hands, brushing the tears threatening to fall with his thumbs.   
  
"I can't, Chrissy," Edge answered, oblivious to the use of the nickname he hadn't attributed to his brother since they were small children. "I wish I could, but I can't. I'd do anything to make it all go away, but I can't. I promise, though...I promise, Chrissy, no one's gonna hurt you again, okay?"   
  
Christian nodded and let himself be pulled back into the strong embrace, burying his face against Edge's chest and wetting the thin t-shirt over it with his tears. Edge paid no attention to it, instead concentrating on running comforting circles along Christian's back and hoping against hope his brother wouldn't notice he was crying as well.   
  
"I love you, Christian," he murmured to no one in particular. "I love you so much. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."   
  
"Love you, too," Christian responded, almost unintelligibly.   
  
"I know you do." Edge squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I wish you didn't, but I know you do." 


	4. 4

"I don't mean to sound insensitive or anything, but ... Dude. You look like shit."   
  
Edge looked up from where he was bent over tying his shoes to see Christian watching him from the bathroom doorway, appearing for all the world to be a rabid dog thanks to the toothpaste foaming in his mouth. "Gee, thanks. It's nice to know you care."   
  
"No problem." Christian retreated into the bathroom and noisily finished whatever it was he was doing, then came back out wiping the last bits of toothpaste from the corners of his mouth. "So, since we've decided to play Thelma and Louise, where are we goin' today?"   
  
"Don't know."   
  
"Good enough."   
  
Christian fell silent while he started on a search for his shoes, victoriously unearthing them from underneath his bed. He couldn't remember putting them there, but that wasn't important. "So," he started again, sliding his feet into his shoes and checking the laces that never came untied, "you didn't spend all night pacing, did you?"   
  
"Not the whole night, no."   
  
Christian looked up when he heard Edge fidgeting nervously with the doorknob. "I...had another nightmare, didn't I?"   
  
That was another thing that drove Edge crazy. He could never be positive about when Christian really didn't remember freaking out at some ungodly hour of the morning or when he just didn't feel like talking about it and thus feigned ignorance to the matter entirely. In any event, it left Edge helpless and clueless as to what to say the next morning. There wasn't really much use in lying to him, but telling him the truth might send the already moody Christian into one of his dreaded temperamental fits. Not knowing what else to do, he nodded simply and said, "yeah. A bad one."   
  
"Eh," Christian shrugged carelessly. "I'll deal."   
  
"You've been 'dealing' for years, Chris, and it's not helping things any. Maybe you should try talking to someone --"   
  
"Are you saying I need a shrink?"   
  
"No! I mean . . ." Edge trailed off, trying to think of how to tactfully phrase his words as Christian came closer to the door. "Keeping it all locked inside isn't helping you at all. I'm just saying that maybe you need to talk about all of it to someone."   
  
"Fine! You wanna hear my sob story? I'm terrified to go to sleep at night because I never know what I'm gonna remember when I wake up. All I ever manage to do when I'm asleep is go back to that hellhole and hide in my room, crying like some ... some little kid ... listening to my brother in the next room getting raped by our goddamned father and knowing I couldn't do anything about it because the minute I said something he'd beat the shit outta me. I could hear you crying and begging him to stop and every time I did I just wanted to find a corner to go crawl into and die." He stopped, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat. "Shit. Give me the keys. I'm driving."   
  
******  
  
"If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?"   
  
"Please stop singing."   
  
"If I'm alive and well will you still go on holding my hand?"   
  
"Christian! For the last time, you are a horrible singer, now shut up!"   
  
Five hours into the drive and they were ready to rip each other's throat out. Edge had wrestled the keys away from Christian as soon as he realized the only reason his brother wanted to drive was because he had a cast iron stomach and thus intended to stop at every fast food place they saw. He was willing to let it go until their second stop at Burger King. Really, though, Christian didn't mind too much; it was easier to annoy someone without the pressure of having to pay attention to the road. That explained why he was singing along -- loudly -- with every song that came on the radio that he recognized . . . and even some he didn't, if he was feeling especially obnoxious.   
  
"Look at it this way," he started, taking a few final slurps of his milkshake and then tossing it into one of the many empty bags gathered at his feet. "It's not the Barbie Girl song."   
  
"Nothing's worse than listening to you sing along with the Backstreet Boys."   
  
"'Cause I want it that way. Tell my why --"   
  
"No!" Edge ordered, reaching across the armrest to slap at Christian. "No! Absolutely not! I listened to it once. I will *not* listen to it again."   
  
"Huh. You're right. That's too ... '98." Christian paused and then grinned in sadistic glee. "He met Marmalade down in old Moulin Rouge, struttin' her stuff on the street."   
  
"That's it. Get out. Get out of the damn car. I hope Gangrel finds you and leaves you a dry carcass alongside the road somewhere," Edge grumbled, pulling into a gas station and beside a pump. "And I hope a vulture gets what's left."   
  
"But I was even gonna do the L'il Kim parts! Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh! See? I'm a natural."   
  
Edge glared at Christian, then climbed out of his seat. "Alright, listen to me, you annoying brat. Can I trust you by yourself long enough to put twenty bucks worth of gas in the car?"   
  
"Not twenty and a dime?"   
  
"Twenty," Edge repeated, brow narrowed. "And then I want you to get right back in the car."   
  
"Oh yeah, Gangrel's gonna be hanging out at a gas station in the middle of bumfuck Illinois."   
  
"You heard what I said. Do you want anything?"   
  
"A girl. A naked girl. In my bed. No, *handcuffed* to my bed."   
  
"Something I can buy at a Speedway. Preferably something under ten dollars, 'cause I've only got tens and twenties with me."   
  
Christian sighed quietly and stepped out of the car, going around to the gas tank where Edge stood. "Mountain Dew. And a bag of Fritos."   
  
Edge nodded wordlessly and took off for the main building.   
  
"Oh! And a pack of Lifesavers! And some of those little white donuts!" Christian called over the top of the car. Whether Edge didn't hear him or he had and was blatantly ignoring him was beyond him, but it didn't matter much to him anyway. He wasn't so much hungry as just wanting to be as annoying as possible. Deciding to go easy on his brother for once by only putting in twenty dollars' worth of gas in the car, he slid the hose back into his spot and screwed the cap back on the tank and then set to work on trying to locate the bathroom. The milkshake had been what broke the proverbial camel's back, mostly because of the two large cups of Dr. Pepper he'd had earlier that morning.   
  
And, he noted to himself once he was in the back of the building, if he didn't find a bathroom soon he was going to thank God he was male and just whip it out and do his business right there in the bushes.   
  
He figured it was about his luck when he finally did find a bathroom, only to find it locked. Shrugging carelessly, he turned and unzipped his jeans, crying out hoarsely when he turned and came face-to-face with Gangrel.   
  
"If you piss on me, I'll kill you without a second thought," the older man warned, watching Christian closely. "Now then, to make myself the cliche villain of the situation, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Truthfully, I'd very much prefer the easy way, as I'm sure you would as well."   
  
"Grel, uh . . . maybe we can talk this out."   
  
"I find it hard to make deals with any man wearing boxers with . . . are those smiley faces?"   
  
Christian flushed a dull crimson, hastily zipping his jeans and leaving his hands on the button at the top just incase. "Hey, they were a birthday present! And they're comfortable! And chicks dig 'em! That's your problem, Grel, you need to get laid. Do you need some smiley face boxers in your life?"   
  
Unimpressed with Christian's frantic rambling, Gangrel folded his arms across his chest and began to shift his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. "I really have no desire to hurt you, Christian, but don't think I'll hesitate to do so if the need arises. There's no need for you to make this any harder on yourself than it is."   
  
Eyes flicking anxiously from the corner of the building and back to Gangrel, Christian's mind was working rapidly to come up with a decent escape plan. The best one that surfaced involved a gun and a wooden stake, but finding himself lacking both, he settled for plan B instead. He grabbed an empty milk crate on the ground beside him and hurled it as hard as he could at Gangrel's head, then took off running for the side of the building. He hadn't, however, anticipated Gangrel using the incredible speed advantage he held over humans; he gasped when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his throat, and before he knew it the world began to dim around him.   
  
"Not fair," he mumbled before the inviting darkness claimed him. He collapsed in Gangrel's arms, warranting a shake of a head and a sad frown.   
  
"Stupid boy," Gangrel scolded even while knowing Christian was unconscious and not in the least bothered by the remark. He let go of Christian's neck and then wrapped his arms around the boy's surprisingly thin waist, hoisting him up and taking to the air, thankful a storm was brewing and clouds obscured onlookers' vision.   
  
Edge emerged from the gas station with a plastic bag in one hand, a bottle of Slice in the other, and his keys in his mouth. His brow furrowed to see that Christian was not only *not* in the car, but indeed, absolutely nowhere to be found. Distracted, he set the bag in the back seat of the car, leaning on the open door and puzzling over where his brother may have wandered off to.   
  
That's when it hit him -- that smell. The same one he had always associated with Gangrel, nothing but the faintest traces of blood and death and decay and an untold antiquity, and a ball of ice cold dread dropped into his stomach, making him shut the door and lean against the car just to keep from falling to the ground.   
  
"God, no," he groaned, forehead leaning over to rest against the cool metal of the top of the Rodeo. "God, no, please...don't do this to him..."   
  
But then again, the back of his mind reasoned, God had nothing at all to do with this, and He was seeing to it that He didn't become involved, either.   
  
Not knowing what else to do, Edge got into the car and drove until the gas station disappeared from his rear view mirror and all that could be seen in any direction was flat land covered with tall grass and a few trees strewn about. He pulled to the side of the road, gravels crunching noisily beneath the tires, but he ignored the sound and got back out of the car. Every rational part of him was telling him that the smartest thing he could do would be to just keep his nose out of business that didn't concern him and let Gangrel do whatever it was that he wanted to do. Then again, most of his choices in life had gone against what was smartest and veered more towards what was easiest.   
  
Cursing himself and the world under his breath, he took flight, headed for where a long-buried part of his mind knew Gangrel could be found. 


	5. 5

I bleach the sky every night  
Loaded on wrong and further from right.  
Spinning around, two howling moons  
'Cause they're always there whatever I do.  
  
I'd die in your arms if you were dead, too.  
Here comes a lie - we will always be true.  
  
Going up when coming down  
Scratch away, it's the little things that kill.  
Tearing at my brains again.  
The little things that kill.  
  
Bigger you give, bigger you get.  
We're boss at denial but best at forget.  
  
I kill you once, I kill you again.  
We're starving and crude.  
Welcome, my friends, to the little things that kill.  
-- Amended version of "Little Things" by Bush  
  
  
It should have startled him more than it actually did that he remembered the exact route back to the plain little wooden lodge in northern Ohio where Gangrel stayed. Edge figured he should have been more scared than he was as his feet touched the ground again and he began the slow walk towards the front of the house. It looked innocent enough from the outside, just like every other secluded cabin stuck in the middle of the woods with nothing but trees around it for as far as the eye could see. It boasted only two stories and a wrap-around veranda with a banister, but it always came across as being another boring place to spend a weekend camping out.   
  
Edge shivered though no wind blew and his heavy trenchcoat would have shielded him from it anyway. Lead seemed to come from nowhere and fill his boots, making his steps grow slower and closer together until he finally came to a stop at the foot of the porch steps, staring up at the ornate French doors, staring at the stained glass and carved wood surface but making no attempt to get closer. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and bowed his head, wincing when the sun caught the silver cross he kept around his neck, sending a sliver of blinding light right back up at him.   
  
"Well, that's irony for ya," he muttered to himself, pulling at his shirt collar and letting the necklace drop behind it. Another glance back up at the doors, still closed, still taunting him with their innocent, elegant charm. Choking down his fear and refusing to let himself be deterred, he forced himself up the steps and to the doors, not expecting it to be locked and not in the least surprised when it came open easily under his hand. He did, however, almost trip over his own feet due to the stark contrast in light -- it was bright and sunny outside, but he'd obviously forgotten how Gangrel loved to keep his house dark to the point of blackness.   
  
After giving his eyes enough time to adjust to the change, Edge blinked and took inventory of his surroundings, stomach churning when he heard the shouting from somewhere far off in the house, recognizing it immediately as Christian. He walked with mock determination across the hardwood floor, trying his best to ignore the expensive cherry wood surface and the bits of red reflected in it from the stray sunlight coming in from the windows. It was far too close to resembling spilt blood, but Edge realized quickly that was more than likely intentional, another bit of evidence of Gangrel's twisted sense of humor.   
  
He moved from one room to another, barely pausing to take in the extravagant decorations -- Gangrel had never been one to openly show his love for all things pricey and rare, but in the privacy of his home he was prone to indulging himself with seventeenth century furniture, Victorian paintings, elaborate hand-sewn drapes and carpet that probably cost an early settler a vast fortune. Money was trifling to Gangrel, and so he felt free to throw it away on anything that caught his eye at a moment's notice.   
  
Edge drew in a sharp breath when he came to the last room on the first floor, the largest and, currently, brightest. An antique oil lamp was strategically placed on a table beside a mirror, which reflected off a mirror across the room, which in turn turned the light upward to the mirrored ceiling overhead.   
  
"Creative lighting system," Edge noted, blinking from having been temporarily blinded. "Nice way to save on the electricity bill, too."   
  
"Nice of you to join us," Gangrel greeted from somewhere deeper in the room. Once Edge was able to see correctly again, he almost fell to his knees. Christian had already done so, his head tilted at an odd angle so that Gangrel could rest his chin on his shoulder. The thin hand in his hair assurred that his head would stay that way -- and, if that didn't do it, the sharp dagger at his stomach certainly would. "He and I have been having a nice discussion while waiting for you to make your grand appearance. Well, to be honest, I've been having a nice one sided discussion. He, on the other hand, has mostly been listening."   
  
Edge took a hesitant step into the room, very nearly breaking down when he got his first good glimpse of the terrified look in Christian's eyes, mimicking the look he usually had after a nightmare but magnified tenfold. His face was contorted into something meant to come off as resentful and undaunted, but all Edge could see was fear and confusion, and once accompanied with the guilt, it all threatened to eat away the rest of his sanity.   
  
"You know," Gangrel went on to break the deafening silence, "it really was quite considerate of you to lead me right to him."   
  
"I didn't --"   
  
"You did, boy. You don't realize it yet, but you did." Gangrel brought the knife up and tapped it lightly against Christian's cheek. "I don't suppose you ever told him the truth, did you?"   
  
"Gangrel, don't."   
  
"Don't what? You don't think he deserves the truth?"   
  
Edge ran a helpless hand through his hair, wanting to turn and run the other way but caught by Christian's demanding, horrified blue-gray eyes. "I didn't mean . . ."   
  
"I take it you've never told him."   
  
"Told me what?" Christian croaked out hoarsely, voice strained from the pressure against his throat. He turned his attention up to Edge, startled to see his brother watching him like a frightened animal. "Edge? What . . ."   
  
"I didn't mean . . ." was the most intelligent thing Edge could force out his mouth, hands scrabbling through his hair and somehow restraining themselves from pulling back clumps of it in frustration.   
  
Gangrel, naturally, had no such conscience to concern himself with and used that to his advantage. "He never told you the whole story about our first meeting, did he?" Gangrel smirked to himself, stroking Christian's cheek with his index finger in something that might have been genuine affection. "He all but delivered you to me, little one. And now he's trying to back out on our deal. Odd, because I've always known him to be a man of his word up to this point."   
  
"Edge . . ." Christian looked up at his brother, silently begging him to say it was all a lie and that not a single word of it was true; he choked when Edge turned his head away from him. "Edge, why?"   
  
"I didn't mean to!" he screamed, voice echoing off the wood-panelled walls. "Christian, I didn't . . . I was dying! I didn't even know what I was doing! I wasn't thinking straight and I-I..."   
  
"You saved your own ass," Christian hissed bitterly, eyes narrowing accordingly. Edge shook his head but couldn't think of a decent response.   
  
"Edge," Gangrel interrupted the argument forming, "I want you to take a good look at him. He's young, with his whole life ahead of him . . . I'd hate to cut it short. He still has a beating heart, blood that moves through his veins . . .but one day, that's all going to end and he'll just be put in the ground and turned into dust."   
  
"No..."   
  
"Or," Gangrel shrugged carelessly, "you could make sure that never happens. You could give him what some people spend their whole lives trying to attain -- you can let him live forever."   
  
"Don't, Gangrel, please."   
  
"I'm giving you a choice, boy. Death or eternal life?"   
  
"You never gave me that choice!"   
  
"I did, Edge, and you know it," Gangrel almost growled, good humor quickly vanishing. "I offered you immortality or death and I let you have your pick of either."   
  
"I should have chosen death."   
  
"Well, life is full of should have's," Gangrel noted with a shrug, bringing the blade back down to Christian's stomach. "Let's add one more to the list."   
  
Before Edge had time to react, Gangrel had pushed the knife into Christian's gut until the hilt of it prevented it from going any deeper. He twisted it, carefully avoiding the immediate urge to lap up the blood pouring from the wound, and pulled the dagger out, rising to his feet and watching wordlessly as Edge slid across the floor, gathering his brother up into his arms.   
  
"You son of a bitch!" Edge cried, tears streaming down his face. "What -- why --"   
  
"I hate to sound pushy, lad, but you're going to have to make your choice quickly."   
  
Ignoring the older man, Edge pulled the hair out of Christian's face and pressed a hand to the deep wound, repulsed by the blood soaking through the cracks between his fingers and sliding over his knuckles. "Oh, God, oh Christ...Christian, please...don't...what do you want me to do? Oh, fucking hell, Christian, what do you want me to do?" Met only with a wide-eyed stare and a mouth working in silent horror, Edge shook his little brother harshly. "Answer me!"   
  
"I do believe he's a bit preoccupied right now with taking his last breaths."   
  
"Shut up! Just-Just shut up and get the fuck away from me!" Edge turned hysterical, almost hyperventilating for not knowing what to do. He bent, pressing his hand into Christian's and gripping it tightly, though whether to give or receive strength he wasn't entirely certain. Christian's breath became noticeably more ragged, more struggling, and in turn Edge's tears came faster and harder. "I'm not . . . I don't know what to do . . . God, don't make me do this to him . . ." The hand he clutched fell slack, dropping heavily to the floor, and Edge choked back a loud sob. "Oh, Jesus, forgive me. Ch-Christian...Christian, forgive me," he pleaded, bending and seeking with blurried vision the vein he knew ran along the side of Christian's neck, sinking his teeth into it and whimpering when the boy in his arms jumped impulsively, then immediately went motionless. Moments later he pulled back to see Christian's lifeless stare focused on a far wall, looking but not really seeing anything, and he waited breathlessly until the younger man blinked and sputtered, rolling onto his side and yelling from the light attacking his newly-sensitive eyes.   
  
Oblivious to the small amount of pain it would cause, Edge brought his wrist to his mouth and bit into it, then pushed it against his brother's mouth. "Drink, Christian." It was the only bit of encouragement he needed to give, as Christian latched onto the arm like a lifeline and drank with a thirst never before known to him. The sound of boots clicking against the floor made him look up into coal black eyes and a grinning face, silver stud pierced into his tongue standing out vividly.   
  
"Welcome to our family, Christian."   
  
"Go to sleep, Chris," Edge urged, pulling his hair back and kissing the top of his head. "I'll explain everything when you wake up, I promise." After several minutes of absentminded kisses and gentle stroking of his hair, Edge felt Christian go limp in his arms and drift into a fitful sleep, and he looked up at Gangrel with venom in his eyes. "You ... you heartless bastard."   
  
"Oh, please, Edge. It really isn't as bad as it seems."   
  
"You made me kill my own brother!"   
  
Gangrel shrugged, pushing his shirt sleeves up and toying idly with the hem of one of them. "Whatever. You'll thank me some day." He bent and reached for Christian, stunned by the quickness with which Edge drew away from him, taking his brother with him. "I was only --"   
  
"Don't touch him!" Edge screamed, voice cracking with his tears. He held Christian against him with his right arm, his left holding Christian's head against his shoulder as if that would protect him from all the evil in the world and that which was five feet away. "You've got your damn payment now. I swear to fucking God above, Gangrel, if you ever touch him, I will snap your neck and drain your entire goddamned body before you hit the floor, and don't think that I'd be too scared to try it."   
  
"Hell hath no fury like a brother scorned, evidently," Gangrel quipped, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Perhaps you should have adopted such an attitude earlier . . .?" He dropped the argument, shaking his head to show he wished not to continue with it. "Look, Edge, I was only going to tell you that there's an empty bedroom upstairs if you'd like to let him get some rest. Of course, if you'd rather sit here in the floor and hold him and pretend like everything's right with the world, that's perfectly fine. It makes little difference to me."   
  
"Go to Hell."   
  
Gangrel's infuriating smirk fell. "I already have, boy. I'm already there. I'm just gathering my house guests now." He rose to his feet, brushing his knees off and then his hands. "Anyway, just be sure to mop the floor up when you're done playing self-important hero. It's impossible to get blood out of wood floors once it's set." 


	6. 6

Lightweight combat boots fell almost inaudibly against the wooden floors, soundlessly moving up the stairs, down the hallway, and gradually coming to a halt outside a closed door. The inside of the room seemed to be just as quiet as out, save for the soft creaking of bedsprings and hushed whispers and muttering. Gangrel ignored all rights to privacy and pushed the door open, sharp eyes cutting through the dim lighting in the room to see two forms huddled on the bed, both their backs to the door. Edge cradled his sleeping brother in his arms, just barely rocking him back and forth and mumbling something to him that was impossible to understand thanks to how his mouth was pressed against Christian's hair.   
  
"Has he woken yet?" Gangrel asked quietly just incase, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. To his surprise, Edge didn't try to jump out of bed and kill him. Rather, he just shook his head slightly and made no effort to turn to look at his new visitor. "Maybe you should wake him up and let him feed. He's probably rather weak."   
  
"I will when he wakes up on his own."   
  
Gangrel nodded to himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed and peering over Edge's shoulder, a tiny grin pulling at his mouth to see how utterly nauseatingly cute the two of them looked together. "Funny."   
  
"What?"   
  
"I was just talking to myself. I hadn't realized how close you two were."   
  
"I used to have to hold him like this when we were kids," Edge started abruptly, voice choking with tears he was making every move to hide. "We . . . our father, he, uh, had some issues. He used to get his kicks b-by fooling around with me. As far I know he didn't do anything like that to Christian, but I think it's just 'cause I was older. Sometimes Chris would come in and try to help me, and Brad -- that was our father -- would turn on him and just . . . just start beating him . . ." Edge trailed off, eyes squeezing shut to the point he saw bright lights flashing and dying behind his eyelids. "And I never helped him. I wanted to, but . . . but I was so scared of . . . Fuck. I don't know what I was scared of, exactly. I just knew I didn't want Brad to even know I was still there. It hurt so bad . . ." He paused, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. "Oh, God, Grel...All I've ever done is hurt him."   
  
Caught at a momentary loss for words, Gangrel gave into the urge to play a father figure to Edge, an urge he typically squashed and jumped on whenever it arose, and gave a few awkward pats to Edge's head. "I wish I could make you see what a gift you've given him, lad. I know you don't understand right now, but maybe some day you will. You've given him eternal life, Edge, and he'll never feel pain again -- ever."   
  
"Maybe not, but he won't feel . . . anything," Edge whispered, throat raw and cracked from having cried so much that night. "He won't feel anything. He'll just be cold and dead inside . . . like me."   
  
"You really don't understand how very few people get this blessing, Edge. You have to know that a little trivial thing like a soul is a very small price to pay for the chance to live forever."   
  
"We're not *living*, Gangrel," Edge ground out through clenched teeth. "I haven't *lived* in years."   
  
"You're too young to appreciate all of this. Tell me you feel the same way after you live through your first century." Gangrel sighed lightly, threading a stray strand of Edge's hair through his fingers. "You're a very unusual person, Edge. I've always said that soft heart and conscience of yours are going to be your eventual downfall, and they will be. Someone some day is going to take advantage of that and it will destroy you." He paused, dropping the piece of hair between his fingers. "I've lived too long, seen too much, to really have much empathy for anything. I've seen wars ravage countries and families, plagues and famine destroy entire civilizations. I've seen human triumphs and failures and all of humanity's darkest sides come to power. I lost the ability to become emotionally attached to anything long ago. It's rare that one of our kind can hold onto his human side for even as long as you have.   
  
"Sometimes I see you when you think no one's watching, laughing at jokes that temporarily make you forget what you are, crying because you know you can't change that, and I think you're a better person for it."   
  
"Thank you, Confucious," Edge grumbled sorely, reaching a hand to swipe at his eyes before returning to rocking Christian in his arms.   
  
Gangrel chuckled to himself, knowing Edge wasn't really in the mood for a good parental lecture. He watched in silence while Edge went on with his incessant mumbling. "Why didn't your mother stop all of what happened?"   
  
Edge sniffled loudly and rolled his eyes. "She killed herself right after Christian was born."   
  
"Oh." Gangrel winced; his parental lecture was going worse than he'd anticipated. "Perhaps we should take a field trip to go find your father. It can be Christian's first hunting experience."   
  
"Can't."   
  
"Why not? I think you both would enjoy it. I'd imagine it would be very therapeutic."   
  
"No, Gangrel. We can't because I killed him." Edge barely glanced over his shoulder, not surprised to see Gangrel's wide eyes fixed curiously on him. "He was hurting Christian. I laid in my bed and listened to it for a while, but I . . . h-he just kept screaming and . . . I knew where he kept his gun. I'd never fired one before," Edge added as something of an afterthought, "but I knew if I didn't kill him then either Christian or I was going to die that night. So I-I shot him. I kept shooting him until I ran out of bullets, and wh-when the cops showed up I was still just standing there pulling the trigger. They . . . they saw what he'd been doing to me an' Chris and I guess . . . I guess they just . . . felt sorry for us. A little creative dirty cop work and they just completely overlooked what I'd done.  
  
"They managed to track down my mom's sister and talk her into taking us in, but I knew nothing was going to change, really. It was still going to just be me an' Christian. It was always just the two of us. He's all I've ever had. He's the last person I'd ever wanna hurt and . . . and he's the person I've hurt most in the world."   
  
"You're much too hard on yourself, lad. You need to learn that mistakes happen and dwelling on them solves nothing."   
  
"Not everyone's mistakes destroy someone else's life."   
  
Having nothing else to say, Gangrel left the room as quietly as he entered, leaving Edge alone with his tears and insane babbling.   
  
******  
  
Christian turned and ran down a seemingly endless hallway, unshed tears clogging his vision and making him bounce from wall to wall. Behind him, two bedrooms away, Edge was curled in on himself atop his bed, mumbling incoherently and biting down on his knuckles to stifle his sobs. Their father had just left the room -- and now he was after the younger son.   
  
Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Christian hurried to the stairs he could see at the end of the hallway. He stopped short with a strangled cry, panicking to see that only the top stair remained, the rest having rotted away years earlier. He clutched the banister for support, peering over the edge and making silent notes about how far the fall would be to the first floor and how he could manage to minimalize the damage done to his body.   
  
He regretted looking over as soon as he did; there, waiting for him, was Edge, arms outstretched and grinning with the feral need that Christian had only seen from him while in withdrawal from his precious heroin. Behind him stood Gangrel, looking up and nodding in approval.   
  
"Jump, Chrissy," Edge urged, the unnerving grin never slipping. "I'm here. I'll catch you. You'll be safe. I'll make sure no one hurts you."   
  
The fantasy world flickered like the light from a dying candle, then vanished completely, replaced with the dull yellow light from a nearby lamp. Christian blinked several times, sleep disappearing rapidly but the nightmare still clinging to the back of his mind. A vague form could be made out against the far wall, huddled in a chair and just barely illuminated from the lamp.   
  
"Edge?"   
  
The figure stirred, and Christian noticed it was his brother watching over him. Oddly, the knowledge did nothing to soothe his nerves. "Good morning, Christian," Edge greeted, voice unusually low and disheartened even despite the sardonic half-grin on his lips. "Welcome to Hell."   
  
"Wha . . ." He stilled, touching his chest tentatively and making a sour face. "Why's it so hard to breathe?"   
  
Edge pulled himself out of the chair in a show of little more than long legs and messy hair, worn-out jeans hanging low on his narrow hips and excessively large sweatshirt pooling at the waistband. Christian noticed to himself with some small satisfaction that he looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.  
  
Unaware of Christian's mental surveying of his appearance, Edge pushed his hair back and perched at the foot of the bed. Hundreds of thoughts raced through his head, all urging him to apologize profusely to his brother before Christian figured out his new self held certain advantages over his old, among them being incredible strength. Christian had a tendency to launch into a violent frenzy at a moment's notice; it disturbed Edge to no ends that Christian now had inhuman power to back that up.   
  
"I'm sorry, Christian."   
  
He hadn't been expecting Christian to reach out and kick him backwards off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, staring up at his brother with wide green eyes. Christian, meanwhile, just glared right back at him and made absolutely no move to help him to his feet. "Prick. Answer my question."   
  
Reaching up to rub his chest that still ached from where Christian had kicked him none too gently, Edge turned his eyes to the ground he was still sitting on. "Because you don't need to." He risked a glance up at the bed to see Christian blinking stupidly back at him. "For all intents and purposes, Chris, you're . . . uh . . ."   
  
"Dead?"   
  
"As a doornail. Dead people don't have many uses for lungs." Thankfully, he added mentally, still massaging his sternum that very easily could have been crushed if Christian had realized his full potential yet.   
  
"So . . . I don't need to breathe?"   
  
"No. It takes some getting used to, I know."   
  
Christian turned his head up to the ceiling, studying the wooden beams of the roof and praying for one of them to collapse on top of him. When that didn't happen, he went to the next obvious question -- "Buffy isn't going to attack us, is she?"   
  
By then having finally gotten himself up off the floor, Edge stared incredulously at Christian, not completely sure of why he seemed to be taking the news of his transformation so easily. Then again, Edge really didn't want to set his brother's infamous temper off accidentally, so he kept his mouth shut except to answer questions. "Buffy's not real."  
  
"Yeah, well, I didn't think vampires were, either." He paused long enough to scratch his nose. "So what can kill us?" Since Edge was caught off guard by the question and only stared back at him, confused, Christian rolled his eyes. "Holy water, silver bullets, wooden stakes, crosses, garlic, sunlight . . ."   
  
Edge cautiously seated himself on the foot of the bed again, examining Christian's face to make sure he didn't plan on kicking him off again. "Most of that's just stories someone made up a long time ago."   
  
"Like . . .?"  
  
Edge shrugged, picking at the bare threads covering his knees where the jeans had fallen apart years earlier. "Honestly? As far as I know, stakes and sunlight are the only things that really do anything."   
  
"You go out in the sun, though."   
  
"I said it was true, Christian. I didn't say to what extent." He met Christian's curious blue eyes and forced himself to not run away to avoid the calm questioning that was completely unusual for Christian even under normal circumstances. "Direct sunlight for a long time will kill us. S'why I don't go out in daylight without looking like a friggin' eskimo."   
  
"And the stakes?"   
  
"Not much I can say about those. And don't ask me why that works and stuff like the holy water and shit doesn't, because I really don't know."   
  
Christian nodded to himself. Then he kicked Edge off again, this time much more roughly. "Good. I'll make sure to go out at noon and throw myself onto a picket fence. Now get off my bed, asshole."   
  
Well, even though he didn't seem in much of a good mood, he was still taking it better than Edge had anticipated. Of course, Edge noted to himself reluctantly, he was also still half-asleep and hadn't been given sufficient time to compose his argument. "Chris, look. I'm sorry about all this, okay? I just --"   
  
"You're always sorry about something," Christian shot back with a scathing look in his eyes that stopped Edge cold. "You're sorry for dragging me into this, sorry for treating me like some fucking dog you can kick around that'll come begging back as soon as you pet it on the head," he went on, voice lowering dangerously and making his brother take an unconscious step backward. "Sometimes I think all this is just some sick game to you, like you're tryin' to see how much I can take before I snap."   
  
"Christian, that's not --"   
  
"Just shut up!" Christian shrieked wildly, voice hitching slightly; Edge backed off in response. "God. I can't . . . I don't even know where to begin this time, man. I don't know what to yell at you first about. Should I start with how you've kept this from me for, oh, about the past eight years or so?"   
  
"It wasn't any of your business." Edge knew he was in trouble as soon as the words left his mouth. The way Christian sat up in bed and very nearly lunged for his throat was another indication of that.   
  
"It wasn't? You fucking moron! Has all that hair dye soaked through to your brain or something?"   
  
"I don't dye my hair . . ."   
  
"Don't change the subject. Please, Edge, I'd love to hear your story this time about how it wasn't any of my business."   
  
"I didn't mean it like that, Chris," Edge sighed quietly, knowing there was no way on Earth he was getting out of this easily. Christian just sat there staring at him, eyes hard and cold, and it was really starting to trouble him. "I didn't think there was any point in telling you because I didn't want you living your life in fear, never knowing if Gangrel was gonna be around the next corner waiting to steal you or something."   
  
"Which wouldn't have happened at all if you wouldn't have mentioned me."   
  
Edge shuffled his feet like a small child being reprimanded.  
  
"You know," Christian started after a moment given to think the earlier statement over, a derisive smirk playing on his lips, "I *really* wish you wouldn't take it upon yourself to always be my savior and protector and everything. I'm twenty-six years old -- eternally so, thanks to you," he added bitterly, gratified to see Edge flinch and turn his attention to the floor, "so I think I'm capable of taking care of myself. You, on the other hand, seem convinced that I can't even tie my goddamned shoes without you being there to tell me you're sorry about something or other or give me that bullshit about trusting you."   
  
"Chris --"   
  
"Stop," Christian ordered, holding his hand up. That, normally, wouldn't have even warranted a pause for breath, but Edge knew better than to rile his brother up any worse than he already was. "Don't start with that speech about how you never meant to hurt me. I've heard that thing from you so many times I could recite it by heart. It'd probably mean more that way, too."   
  
"Christian, please. Just listen to --"   
  
"I'm so sick of listening to you! I've been listening to you my entire life, and where's that gotten me, huh? I'm sitting in some psycho's bedroom because you sold me out and didn't even have the balls to tell me about it!" Christian took a deep breath, unused lungs aching in response, but he ignored them and went on. "Jesus Christ. People always say I'm the clingy one."   
  
"What?"   
  
"You act like you need my approval for everything! You can't take a piss without apologizing to me for it!"   
  
"Christian, you're rambling. Maybe you need to --"   
  
"To trust you and you'll make everything better again, right?" Christian guessed caustically. Edge shook his head but wasn't given a chance to defend himself. "You know what? I bet my life would be a helluva lot easier if you would have just died with a little bit of dignity in that alley. But you took the coward's way out and now *I'm* paying for it. Where's the justice in that, Edge? Why should I trust you?"   
  
"Because we're brothers..."   
  
Christian shook his head vehemently, eyes still unusually dark and hateful. "No we're not. My brother died of a drug overdose in some back alley in Toronto." He fell back against the mattress and yanked the blanket up over his head, making it abundantly clear he had no intentions on continuing the argument.   
  
Dejected and solemn, Edge made his way silently out of the room and climbed onto the ornate wooden railing along the staircase. His feet swung restlessly over the side, stopping suddenly when he heard a frustratingly familiar voice behind him.   
  
"You're not planning on jumping, are you? Because if you do, it won't work. You'll just break some bones and probably leave a bad dent in the floor. And, with my luck, you'd break my new table as well."   
  
"Fuck off, Gangrel. I'm not in the mood."   
  
Gangrel chuckled to himself, adjusting the shirt sleeves at his wrists and leaning beside Edge against the banister. They stayed in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, broken by Gangrel's fingers tapping a rhythm out on the wood.   
  
"Stop it."   
  
Gangrel complied, but not without giving up the thoughts that drove him to do that in the first place. "He didn't murder you, so I'm assuming things went relatively well." He stopped with a crooked grin. "That, or you didn't see fit to tell him that he's much stronger now than before."   
  
Though all sorts of angry replies came to mind, Edge dropped his head into his hands and let out a low groan. "He hates me, Grel. I've always been able to patch things up, but . . . this is different. I don't think I can fix it this time." He huffed lightly and rubbed at his eyes. "I think I've really fucked up this time."   
  
"Hmm. I'm inclined to agree with you," Gangrel agreed, eyes glimmering at the desperate look Edge shot him. "You got yourself into this mess, boy. I can't always bail you out of every problem you make for yourself. Besides," he went on, "I've a dinner to attend. I'm leaving Michael and Thomas here," he announced in reference to the two other vampires who shared the house with him. "You boys play nice. I trust you and your brother won't burn my house down."   
  
"Y'know, sometimes I don't know whether you really think you're funny or you act like this just to piss me off."   
  
"Mysteries of life, such as it is. I left the phone number downstairs by the telephone incase you need to reach me for some reason -- but Christian waking up and deciding you deserve to have your ass handed to you is not a valid reason, sorry." Gangrel repositioned his shirt collar and then patted Edge on the cheek. "You boys take care and don't break too many valuables." 


	7. 7

It was deceptively easy to fall back into old habits. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, the strobe lights, the throng of dancing people in the middle of the club, all combined to create one familiar sensation to Edge as he seated himself on an unoccupied bar stool. Though tempted to drink himself into oblivion and hope a kind soul would drop his unconscious body on Gangrel's doorstep, he waved the bartender away and set his chin in his hands.   
  
"Hey! Hey, is that you?"   
  
Edge cringed and ducked his head, trying his best to hide from the voice. It was a vain attempt at best, since the owner of the voice sat down beside him, totally disregarding his obvious disinterest.   
  
"Holy shit! I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"   
  
With any luck, Edge commented mentally to himself, forcing a small grin as he turned to face one of many people he'd hoped never to run into for the rest of his unnaturally long life. Maybe there was a time when Sarah Lawson was attractive in any sense of the word. As long as Edge had known her, she had always been a small twig of a girl, always with tight clothing that really did nothing for her other than show how very thin she was. Her dyed blond hair failed to cover her dark brown roots, but that didn't stop her from passing herself off as a natural blonde anyway. Even aside from all that and her vacant, dull blue eyes, Edge had always thought she had all the personality of a doorknob. As long as someone was around willing to take advantage of her and slap her around she would worship their feet and the ground they walked on. He'd even tried to talk some sense into her on a couple occasions, giving the worn-out empowerment speech to make her see she didn't have to put herself through all of that. That, obviously, had failed. Now she looked even worse than the last time he'd seen her.   
  
He couldn't recall exactly how they had met, only that he'd kept her around because when all else failed, she was always available for a good hit of something and a quick lay, both with no strings attached.   
  
"What're you doin' here?" She asked, leaning against the bartop and giving her greasy smile in a miserable attempt to come off as being charming.   
  
"I could ask the same."   
  
She laughed, a shrill sound that was vaguely reminiscent of nails scraping a chalkboard. Out of sheer courtesy and a display of his willpower, Edge choked down the urge to cringe in response. "I work here, silly."   
  
"In the bar or on the street?"   
  
She seemed disappointed at having been asked that, but then shrugged it off and unfolded her long arms to rest across the counter. "In town. It's just a temp job until I can find something better."   
  
Edge nodded, wishing violently that she would just leave him to wallow in self-pity peacefully. He glanced casually over at her, noticing for the first time the dark, ugly scars lining the insides of her arms, and he couldn't decide if they were track marks or proof of a botched suicide attempt. Knowing Sarah, it could easily have been both. "You're still using," he commented idly, gesturing to her arms. She self-consciously pulled them back into her lap.   
  
"Yeah," she admitted in a quiet voice a child might use when accused of breaking something. "I-I never quit." She looked up suddenly, surprise clear on her skeleton-like face. "Aren't you?"   
  
"I quit a long time ago." Not voluntarily, but he kept the rest of his comments to himself. "Wasn't worth it."   
  
Sarah smiled to herself and absently twirled a strand of hair around her index finger. "Must've met a girl, huh?" Edge shook his head but didn't make any other effort to reply. Instead, he sighed quietly and traced an invisible pattern on the wooden bar top. "You look awfully sad, sweetie. What's wrong?"   
  
"Just have a lot on my mind right now."   
  
Before he knew what was happening, Sarah was grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd, out the back door, and out onto a dimly lit side street. He made no move to resist her, just leaned against the wall of the building and watching her with half-lidded eyes while Sarah dug through her purse. After a couple minutes of frustrated cursing and digging she finally brought up a short plastic tube and a syringe filled with some sort of substance Edge couldn't even begin to identify. She clutched his arm with her bony fingers, pressing the sharp point of the needle against his arm and leaning up to brush his hair from his neck.   
  
"Whaddya say, babe? One more just for old time's sake?"   
  
Under any other circumstance, Edge probably would have pushed her off and walked away without a second look behind him. This, however, was not exactly a normal night, and it made him hesitate. That slight pause was enough to make Sarah grin up at him and start moving her fingernails along his chest.   
  
"We had somethin' before you ran off, baby," she announced in a low voice, already tying the plastic tube around Edge's arm and giving the inside of his elbow a few hard flicks.   
  
"We never had anything," Edge corrected with narrowed eyes. "We fucked a few times and shared needles. That's it."   
  
Sarah pouted for a moment, then shrugged and pushed her hands up beneath the bottom of Edge's shirt, toying lightly with his belt buckle. "Alright, fine. Wanna have another go-around?"   
  
No! his mind screamed at him, kicking him a few times for good measure. Rather than listen, he tried rationalizing and weighing the good against the bad. The bad thing was that he had been drug-free since that fateful first meeting with Gangrel and he fully intended on keeping things that way. The good things, though, were that with a big part of his body not working anymore he would be open to experimenting again and not have to worry about becoming hopelessly addicted this time. And, of course, there was also the fact he really didn't think Sarah was going to let him go easily.   
  
The faint nod he gave was enough for her; she grinned yet again and slipped the needle into his arm seconds before dropping to her knees in front of him. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the building, wondering how much trouble this was going to cause just as soon as news of it got back to Gangrel.   
  
******  
  
"Good evening, Edge. How nice of you to finally decide to show up."   
  
Edge looked up sheepishly from where he stood fumbling with his keys, surprised to see Gangrel standing at the door and not looking at all pleased. "I --"   
  
"You smell like cheap liquor and perfume. Whatever excuse you have, I don't plan on listening to it." He motioned for Edge to come inside, pierced eyebrows arched high in his brow. "And just out of curiosity, when might it have occurred to you that you don't have a key to my house?"   
  
"After I went through all the other ones," Edge answered, rubbing the back of his head and wincing. There was a dull pounding in his brain, no doubt due to his brief high fading, and he just wanted to find somewhere to quietly pass out and die. "So, uh . . . what're you doing back so early? Thought you had a dinner or something."   
  
"Incase you haven't noticed, it's almost one a.m.," Gangrel pointed out with a look to the clock on the wall for emphasis. "Dinners typically are over by now."   
  
"Smartass," Edge growled under his breath, making his way to the stairs. He managed to make his way to the second floor without too much trouble, his high steadily dying and disappearing completely once he opened the bedroom door and saw his brother curled up in the bed, small form visibly trembling even though the light was off.   
  
"Chris?" He called softly, stepping into the room and frowning as he neared the bed and realized the reason the light was off was because it was in pieces on the floor. "Christian? Are you --"   
  
"Get away from me!" Christian screamed sharply, turning and tangling the sheets around himself. He looked up at Edge with wild eyes, mouth working as if to say something but no words would come out. "J-Just don't touch me."   
  
"What's wrong? What happened?" Edge asked worriedly, sinking to his knees beside the bed so that he and Christian were at eye level with each other. The terrified glimmer harboring in Christian's eyes was hauntingly familiar, but Edge pushed the thought to the back of his mind. "Christian, what happened?" He tried again, stunned by how his brother shrank away when he tried to touch his cheek. The look, the reaction, it was all too well-known. Without warning, Edge grabbed the thin sheet covering Christian and pulled it back, not greatly surprised to see Christian completely nude. He was, however, more than a little startled to see the ugly purple bruises lining Christian's hips, standing out against the pale skin. Disgusted at the knowledge of what had likely happened, Edge forced Christian to turn over, nearly gagging at the sight of blood dotting the sheets beneath him.   
  
"Who did it?" He demanded an answer, torn between the need to calm Christian's violent trembling and the intense desire to go kill something in anger. Christian didn't answer, so Edge let out a low snarl and rushed out the door, bursting into Gangrel's bedroom in a mess of vengeful fury.   
  
"You son of a bitch!" he cried, launching himself across the room and wrapping a hand around Gangrel's throat, lifting him up off his feet and pushing him harshly against the wall. "I *told* you not to touch him!"   
  
"I've touched no one. Now I suggest you unhand me, boy."   
  
Enraged to the point of blind madness, he shook Gangrel so that the back of his head connected viciously with the wall. "You're a liar. You took advantage of him just like you did with me." It had been years since he'd brought it up, but he still remembered his first night in Gangrel's home. He had been scared out of his wits, hundreds of miles from home or even anyone he knew, and convulsing because his body was trying to adjust to not only the changes Gangrel had inflicted but going through withdrawals as well. Gangrel, not sure of how to calm his new ward, lured Edge into frenzied sex to aid him in dealing with the shock.   
  
The idea that Gangrel had done the same to his unwilling little brother drove Edge totally out of control.   
  
"You know what I told you earlier about what we went through and you used that . . . used him!"   
  
Gangrel's eyes narrowed to deadly black slits. "I'll only tell you this once: I didn't touch your brother. Now take your hands off me."   
  
"Liar!"   
  
Edge hadn't been expecting Gangrel to break away from him as easily as if pushing away a leaf. He went sailing backwards from the force, crashing through a solid wood dresser and moaning from the pain that followed. He looked up through the hair hanging into his face, suddenly feeling incredibly small and helpless with Gangrel looming ominously over him.   
  
"Would you mind telling me what's going on?"   
  
"Someone . . . someone forced him to . . . to . . ." He shook his head, wrapping his arms aroudn his knees and rocking slightly like a small child.   
  
"And you automatically assumed I did it?" Gangrel shook his head incredulously. "I'm disappointed. I know we have our differences, but I thought you had a little more faith in me than that." He knelt, pulling a broken piece of wood off Edge's leg. "I didn't even get home until well past ten. Perhaps if you hadn't been out feeling sorry for yourself . . ." Edge gave a low, miserable groan and flinched as if he'd been hit. Gangrel rose to his feet and, after a fwe moments, looked away. "That was uncalled for. I apologize."   
  
He didn't have time to go on; Thomas and Michael rushed into the room one behind the other, frantic and obviously panicked.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Thomas looked about the room in confusion before responding, nervously eying the board still in Gangrel's hands. "We heard noises and thought you were in danger."   
  
The board snapped in half. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you." With lightning quick movements he flew across the room and rammed one section of the board deep into Thomas's chest, hard enough to pin him to the wall. "As you can tell." He then turned his attention to a shell-shocked Michael. "I could smell the fear and guilt on him," he explained easily, nearing Michael's petrified body. "So I'll give you a chance to save yourself. Thomas raped that boy," he went on, pointing out the open door and down the hallway to imply Christian's room. "My question to you is did you have anything to do with it?"   
  
Michael gulped. "N-no, of course not!"   
  
"Liars make me angry, Michael."   
  
Desperate, Michael nodded. "O-Okay, fine. I didn't want to but . . . but Thomas needed someone to hold the kid down and . . ." He trailed off as Gangrel's eyes darkened considerably. "Gangrel, please! I can redeem myself!"   
  
"Maybe in your next form." Gangrel impaled the other man on the second piece of wood, clutching Michael's chin with his free hand. "When you meet him, tell your maker I don't appreciate him sending me scum who betray my trust."   
  
He moved away once the body had stopped twitching, turning to see Edge's wide green eyes watching him warily. "I never really trusted them anyway." He paused, carefully removing one of the rings from his eyebrow. "Edge?"   
  
"...Huh?"   
  
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you. If you *ever* manhandle me again like you did a few minutes ago, it will be you hanging on my wall. Understood?" Unable to find the words to reply, Edge simply nodded. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm rather tired and would like to sleep."   
  
Edge gestured to the two dead vampires fixed to the far wall. "Aren't you going to . . . uh . . ."   
  
"Tomorrow," Gangrel answered, waving his hand in dismissal. "I'm sleepy."   
  
Edge left the room as asked, wondering how even Gangrel could put sleep above removing two corpses from his room on his to-do list. He walked into Christian's room, useless heart breaking to see his brother still hadn't moved.   
  
"Chris . . ."   
  
"Grel didn't do it," he mumbled almost inaudibly. Edge nodded to himself and once again knelt by the bed.   
  
"I know."   
  
Christian whimpered meekly, face hardening in anger. "God, I feel like such a pussy, Edge. I didn't even try to fight back!"  
  
"He would have killed you. They," Edge quickly amended, touching Christian's shoulder in something he hoped would be seen as a comforting gesture. "That's why I never really tried to fight back against Dad. I knew if I did he'd just go after you. I would've slit my throat before I put you through that." Edge sighed helplessly. "Figures you'd have to go through it anyway."   
  
The bed creaked as Christian pulled himself to his feet, wrapping the sheet around his body and heading for the bathroom adjoined to the room. "Are you all right?" Edge asked worriedly, getting up to follow and narrowly avoiding have the door slammed into his nose. "Chris, if you wanna talk . . ."   
  
The pounding noise inside the bathroom was a pretty good sign he didn't. Edge was willing to let him beat out his frustrations until there was a loud shatter and the unmistakable sound of glass hitting the floor. "Christian! Open the door!"   
  
Despite his fist beating against the door, Christian pretended not to hear his brother. Rather, he picked a piece of the broken mirror off the ground and sat down in the floor, leaning against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. He barely had a second thought about his next move -- he brought the glass down and dragged it across the inside of his arm, delighted at how the flesh opened and dark red blood rose to the surface.   
  
Then he started laughing insanely when the blood just barely oozed from the cuts. "Fucking great," he announced as the door burst inward and Edge broke into the room. "I can't even kill myself right." He looked up, turning his delirious grin to his brother. "It didn't work."   
  
Edge offered a tiny sympathetic smile while lowering himself to his knees, dabbing at Christian's arm with his shirt. "We don't have blood of our own. It can't work. Don't think I haven't already tried it." He turned his arms over to reveal the long scars that served as eternal reminders of one last desperate escape attempt. Christian snorted in response.   
  
"We are one seriously fucked up family, you know that?"   
  
Edge nodded wordlessly and went on cleaning his brother's wound. 


	8. 8

"It's been five days, Gangrel."   
  
Startled by the voice interrupting the blissful silence, Gangrel looked up from where he sat at the table looking over, of all things, a Lowe's catalog. Edge stood in the doorway, appearing remarkably more vulnerable than Gangrel could ever recall seeing him before.   
  
Edge huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair from his face and collapsing into the chair across the table from Gangrel, straddling it backwards to rest his arms over the back of it. He opened his mouth to continue his rant, noticed what Gangrel was looking at, and frowned.   
  
"What are you doing?"   
  
"Thinking of remodeling the upstairs bathroom. It's . . . drab."   
  
"Are you going into interior decorating or something?"   
  
"I'm three hundred and eleven years old, Edge. I have to be open to change." He closed the catalog and pushed it to the side of the table, then took a slow sip from the cup of coffee beside him. "Okay, so . . . five days . . ."   
  
Edge wasn't entirely certain how to get back on his train of thought. It'd been pretty much shattered by the image of Gangrel pretending to be the perfectly domestic fashion mogul. He shook his head and dropped it to rest atop his folded arms. "It's been five days since you . . . I . . ." He kicked the table leg in frustration. "Since we changed Christian."   
  
"I'm aware of that. And please don't kick my table, Edge. It predates the Civil War. You can imagine how hard it would be to replace."   
  
Edge, not having anything to say in response, wisely ignored him. "He hasn't done anything, Grel. He won't eat, he won't drink, the only time I've seen him go to the bathroom is to try to slit his wrist, he . . . I can't get him to feed . . . He's hellbent on killing himself and I don't know what to do."   
  
"If he wants to throw it all away, let him." Gangrel shrugged at the angry look Edge shot him. "What? I'm growing very tired of babysitting the both of you. My life was rather uneventful until you two decided to move into my home."   
  
"You chased us down!"   
  
"...I did, didn't I? My mistake." Gangrel sighed quietly and moved across the kitchen to the coffee pot, holding it out to Edge. "Coffee?"   
  
"Gangrel, c'mon. I don't want to lose him again."   
  
"Do you intend on forcing him to feed?" Gangrel set his coffee mug on the counter, turning to see Edge watching him. "It's my understanding that you've made the decisions for both of you for quite some time. I think he would appreciate being able to do at least one thing on his own."   
  
"He's dying!"   
  
Gangrel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose and glaring at Edge. "You're not going to let me out of this easily, are you?" Given only a shaking head in response, Gangrel threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine. Let's go try to talk to him. I need to see if the bathroom would look better with burgundy or emerald green tiling anyway."   
  
Moments later they stood together in the guest bedroom that Christian seemed to have claimed as his own. Heavy drapes had been pulled tight across the windows, submerging the room in complete darkness that was broken only by the light on in the bathroom. The bed sheets and covers were in a messy pile on the floor, while Christian lay shivering slightly on the mattress.   
  
"If you're trying to gain sympathy from me, little one, it's not exactly working," Gangrel pointed out, arms folded over his chest. Christian lazily turned his eyes up to meet his. "I understand that you're having some . . . troubles with adjusting, but what's done is done and I can't change that. No one can. Now you can lay here and pity yourself until the end of time, it really makes no difference to me, but your brother has quite an affection for you." Realizing that Christian was making no attempt to answer or even pay much attention, Gangrel nudged Edge and pointed to the bed. "I'll hold him if you want to --"   
  
"No," Edge interrupted, shaking his head and sending long hair tumbling into his face. "I've taken every choice away from him for so long . . . if he wants to die, I'll let him. I don't have to like it, though."   
  
Gangrel blinked. Twice. Three times. "You brought me all the way up here to change your mind and let him die? Honestly, boy, I wonder sometimes why what deity I've pissed off to deserve you." Muttering under his breath, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the brothers in stifling quiet. Edge walked to the bed and settled himself at the headboard, pulling a greatly weakened Christian into his arms and resting his own head atop Christian's.   
  
"Don't do this, Chris, please," he begged, feeling the unsteady rising and falling of his brother's chest because he refused to accept the fact his lungs no longer worked on their own. "Christian, I . . . Look. I know I've really fucked things up, okay? We both know that. I can't change anything that's happened with us, no matter how much I wish I could. But you're my little brother, man. We've fought together, laughed together, cried together, gotten drunk together . . . Everyone always thinks you're the follower, but we both know you're what holds me together most of the time. I don't know what I'd do without you, Chris, I really don't. I-I don't want you to leave me."   
  
"I didn't want this," Christian choked out hoarsely.   
  
"I know you didn't. I didn't either, but like Grel said -- what's done is done. I can't make up for all the things I've screwed up up to this point, but I promise, Chris . . . I promise, I can start trying to make things right." He paused, pressing a kiss to the top of Christian's head and forcing his tears back. "I know I haven't given you any reason to do so before, but I'm asking you to trust me. I'm not lying or hiding anything now, and I don't have any reason to mislead you. Please, Christian . . . don't do this. One more chance, man, that's all I want. Just one more."   
  
Christian turned the plea over and over again in his mind, examining it for the smallest hint of betrayal in it and disappointed to find none. He needed a reason to not let Edge's seemingly heartfelt speech get to him. Left without one, though, he was helpless to resisting; he nodded slowly, groaning when he felt himself being pulled further up his brother's body, his head being tilted to the side just enough to fit into the crook of Edge's neck.   
  
"Drink."   
  
"I don't know what to do . . ."   
  
"Yes, you do." For proof, Edge brought a hand around to tap at the long vein running along the side of the throat. "You know."   
  
Instincts he didn't even know he had kicking in, Christian winced in pain as the new fangs in his mouth elongated just enough to pierce the skin beneath his mouth. The rush of blood on his tongue was an immediate shock, almost enough to make him jump back in horror, but once it was swallowed it sparked a fire raging out of control within him. He latched onto the wound, sucking from it quicker than his throat could handle; blood trickled in thin trails from the corners of his mouth, dripping down Edge's shoulder and embedding themselves into the fibers of his shirt. All too soon he felt Edge's hands on his shoulders, pushing him away and indicating that he'd had enough.   
  
Christian watched in barely concealed fascination as Edge pricked an index finger on one of his sharp fangs, then reached back to close the wound. Picking up the excess blood from his mouth and licking it from his fingertips, he smirked to himself as Edge swooned uneasily back and forth and blinked rapidly up at the ceiling. "You okay?"   
  
"Y-Yeah. I'm a l'il dizzy, but I'm fine." He opened his eyes hesitantly. "You look a lot better already."   
  
"So you're okay?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Good."   
  
Edge didn't have time to respond before Christian punched him hard in the jaw. He checked to make certain his head hadn't spun completely around, then turned incredulous eyes to his brother.   
  
"What the fuck! Christian, what's --"   
  
"That's for getting me into this whole mess." He crawled up the bed, close enough to ram his knee harshly into Edge's crotch, making him scream in a laughably higher voice than normal. "That's for lying to me." To finish, Christian reached up and grabbed a handful of Edge's hair, slamming his head back into the headboard a couple times. "And that's just for being an asshole." Another slam. "And for setting my English term paper on fire in eleventh grade." Another slam. "And for being older." Another slam. "And for stealing my girlfriend in twelfth grade."   
  
"Alright, Christian, I think he's clear on why you're upset," Gangrel noted from the doorway. Christian reluctantly let go of Edge's hair, backing up and clenching his fists angrily at his sides. He shot a wary look at Gangrel, admittedly a bit startled to see the other man trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. He walked to the bed and loomed over Edge's face, holding up three fingers. "How many?"   
  
Edge grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and reached behind him to clutch his head. "Fuck you. Both of you."   
  
"Well. Assuming he doesn't have any brain damage, I think he'll live."   
  
"He'd damn well better live. I've still got a whole list of things to pay him back for," Christian muttered sorely. Gangrel laughed, something Edge didn't appreciate in the least.   
  
"You're both vampires now, lad. You've got the rest of eternity to beat each other up if that's really what you want." He shook his head in amusement. "Times like these, I'm quite thankful I was an only child."   
  
******  
  
Christian was faintly aware of someone talking to themselves nearby, but he'd be damned before he got up to see what was going on. It was . . . he rolled over to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was just past two a.m. and some idiot was in his bathroom, making all sorts of ungodly noises and it was really beginning to irritate him.   
  
When he finally reached his breaking point, he threw the cover back and stormed into the bathroom, wincing when the harsh yellow light hit his eyes as soon as he opened the door. To his credit, he couldn't have been expecting Gangrel to be sitting in the floor, two small portions of porcelain in either hand and a serious expression on his face.   
  
"It's two in the fucking morning, you nutjob. Why are you bein' so loud and what the hell are you doing?" Christian asked angrily, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. Gangrel didn't even so much as look up.   
  
"I know you're new to this and all, but typically the night hours are when we're supposed to be up and about. I'm not being loud, you're just starting to let your senses increase like they should. And incase it wasn't obvious, I'm comparing tiling samples. Do you think I should go with burgundy or dark green?" He held them up for inspection, frowning when Christian blinked and then let out a disgusted snort, heading back into the bedroom. "You're as useful as your brother. You know, immortality isn't just about living off blood! You need to be open to change as well!"   
  
Christian, however, wasn't even in the room to keep listening. He was instead slipping quietly down the stairs, unnoticed as he stepped into the rec room and noticed his brother on one end of the couch, a can of Mountain Dew in one hand and the other hand rifling through an open bag of chips. He moved his hand from the chips to grab the remote, flipping through endless infomercials and late night Discovery Channel programming, pausing when he happened across a sex hotline ad. Seeing a group of singing blondes in their lingerie was too much; Christian snorted. Loudly.   
  
"It's the most action I've seen in weeks, so either go back to bed or shut up and sit down."   
  
Christian sighed and sat down on the other end of the couch, tucking his legs beneath him. "Gangrel's driving me nuts."   
  
"Still remodeling?"   
  
"He went from vampire badass to Martha Stewart when I wasn't watching."   
  
Edge chuckled, offering the bag of chips to Christian. "Want some? They're ruffled."   
  
"Huh uh."   
  
"'Kay." Edge shrugged carelessly and munched not so quietly on a handful. A number flashed across the screen, and he flashed an equally as bright grin across at his brother. "I dare you to call."   
  
"Hey, you're the one in here whacking off to commercials. I'm staying out of all this."   
  
"I am not, you pervert." Edge kicked Christian in the side just for good measure. "Freak."   
  
"Blood-sucker."   
  
"Bimbo."   
  
"Strung-out junkie fag."   
  
Edge tilted his head and offered a crooked smile. "You win."   
  
"Like always."   
  
"Well, I knew you wouldn't do it anyway."   
  
"Damn straight. I'd hate having to explain to Grel how 1-800-HOT-LADY showed up on his phone bill."   
  
Edge let out a laugh at that, flipping the channel once the commercial ended and stopping when he found an old episode of Bewitched on Nick at Nite. "We could probably convince him he got drunk and called."   
  
Christian nodded, falling silent except for the occasional short laugh when Samantha caused more mischief on the television screen. He risked a glance to his left, finding Edge completely engrossed in the show. "No hard feelings about what happened earlier, right?"   
  
"Oh, sure, right. You just kicked my ass after I donated blood. No hard feelings." Though his words were hard, his voice was lighthearted and obviously carefree. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried to, dweeboid."   
  
"Hey! Don't steal my phrases." A thoughtful pause. "Dyed blond cocksucker."   
  
"Hey now, I don't dye my hair. I already told you that," Edge shot back defensively. "Y'know, this is how it should be."   
  
"What's that?"   
  
"Us just sitting here insulting each other like two dumbass teenagers. I've missed this." They fell into silence again, and when Edge spoke his voice held a much more serious tone than before. "Chris, um . . . how do you feel?"   
  
"Like hurting something."   
  
"No, I mean . . . with what happened a few days ago," Edge corrected, glancing up through long lashes to see Christian staring blankly at him. "With Thomas and --"   
  
"I don't wanna talk about that," Christian interrupted sharply. He huffed and fell back against the couch cushions. "Far as I'm concerned, it's over and done with."   
  
"Chris --"   
  
"Just drop it, okay?" He waited until Edge nodded before he spoke again. "You know, we're going to have to go back to work eventually."   
  
"Yeah, I know. I don't want to, though. I mean, I like it," he clarified at the odd look Christian gave him, "but I don't feel right letting you fend for yourself yet. You don't know how to hunt, you don't know how to fly or use your senses right or anything. . . it's like leaving a little baby on the street."   
  
"Gee, thanks. It's good to see you still have faith in me."   
  
"You know what I mean."   
  
Christian rolled his eyes and propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of them. "Please. How hard can it be? I just go to a steakhouse and order something rare."   
  
"And what about when there's not a Texas Roadhouse nearby?"   
  
"Then I'll go hungry."   
  
"Moron."   
  
"Stupid poo-licker." Christian grinned innocently. "See? That's why our team was awesome -- I had the best insults."   
  
"Whatever."   
  
"See?" He fell silent, drumming his fingers restlessly along the arm of the couch. When he turned back around, he saw Edge's eyes fixed curiously on him, waiting for him to make the next move. "Fine. Let's go hunting."   
  
"You really want to?"   
  
"Yeah. I really want to."   
  
There was a moment of silence given to careful thought, then Edge nodded and set the can of Mountain Dew on the table. "Great. Get your shoes on, assmunch."   
  
"Did you just call me --"   
  
"I'm not waiting all night."   
  
Christian looked down at the ground, to his feet with the faded gray socks, and then back up to Edge. "I...I've missed you, man."   
  
Face softening somewhat, Edge checked a beaming smile and settled instead for a small grin. "I've missed you, too. Now go get your shoes. I'm hungry." 


	9. 9a

"This . . . this is insanity."   
  
"You're the one who wanted to go hunting, y'know."   
  
"I didn't know you meant we were going to K-Mart!"   
  
"Well, yeah, I did leave that out for a reason . . ."   
  
"Both of you, be quiet. You're giving me a migraine."   
  
Sometimes, even when they were trapped together under the awning that ran over the loading ramp in the back of a department store, it felt as though the three of them were somehow destined to be an entertaining if dysfunctional family. They stood huddled together, taking shelter from the rain that had started pouring unexpectedly from the sky minutes earlier. Christian would have been content to keep going in the cool summer shower, Edge was careless as usual, but Gangrel insisted they stop until the rain slacked off. That had, of course, prompted an endless amount of jokes about him melting, which in turn led the brothers into an impromptu production of "Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead", though it was abruptly ended when Gangrel pushed Edge off the highest part of the ramp and threatened to duct tape him inside a tanning bed if he didn't shut up.   
  
Christian had watched with barely concealed fascination as the cuts and bruises that had formed dark and ugly on Edge's skin from the fall healed themselves before his eyes. He reached out with a tentative hand, surprised that the flesh was solid beneath his touch and not just an illusion of some sort. While they waited for the rain to ease, Gangrel was flipping idly through an abandoned K-Mart ad, muttering to himself about them being cheaper than Lowe's. Edge was pacing impatiently, wishing they would just hurry up and start walking again. Christian sat perched on the railing, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, watching the rain as it fell in sheets just out of his reach. The black pavement of the parking lot glittered under the rain and the street lamps reflecting in the puddles, much brighter and more vivid than he could ever remember seeing. Faint rainbow patterns could even be detected swirling about and then disappearing.   
  
His head jerked up suddenly when he heard Edge quietly and badly singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." "Okay, real cute, Edge. I'm sick of that movie, thanks."   
  
Edge turned to stare in disbelief at his brother, eyes widened to almost comical proportions. "What?"   
  
"You were singing," Christian replied as if that had been the most obvious thing in the world, rolling his eyes. "And you're a horrible singer, too."   
  
"No worse than you," Edge mumbled absently, scratching at his head and frowning. "But Chris, I, uh, didn't say anything."   
  
"Look, dipshit, you were singing. Just quit it, okay?"   
  
Edge blinked, obviously not at all about to confess to something he didn't do. "Christian, I'm serious. I didn't say anything."   
  
"Oh, so...great. Now I'm hearing voices."   
  
A slight hesitation before Edge spoke again, voice quiet and timid. "Did it sound like mine?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
Edge turned to face Gangrel. "Grel?" Finding him completely submerged in the ad, he poked him with the toe of his boot, receiving an irritated glance for his effort. "When did our bond form?"   
  
"As soon as I changed you. Why?" He noticed how Edge jerked his head towards Christian and nodded in understanding. "Ah. Well, it's about time he started accepting it."   
  
"Accepting what? Are you telling me I can, like, read minds and crap now?"   
  
"No," Edge explained, seating himself on the railing beside his brother and attempting the same easy balance Christian displayed unknowingly; he managed to catch himself before he fell off and onto a delivery truck. Embarrassed slightly but not willing to show it, he settled for leaning against the banister instead, going on as if nothing had happened. "You can read mine and I can read yours. And, to some extent, the same's true for you and Gangrel, I would assume." He cast a look to Gangrel who nodded grudgingly.   
  
"Yes, it is. If I catch you prying about unwanted in my head, though, little one, I'll make a feast of you."   
  
"Whatever," Christian snorted. "I don't even *wanna* know what goes on in your head. Prob'ly plans for global domination and Martha Stewart cooking recipes or something."   
  
"Or Martha Stewart's plans for global domination," Edge chimed in helpfully, grinning when Gangrel barred his fangs at him. "That would probably be a whole lot scarier if you didn't have the ad open to the home interior section."   
  
"Mock my refurnishing all you want," Gangrel sniffed in feigned arrogance. "You'll regret it when I turn my house into the epitome of taste."   
  
"You know, there was a time when I was scared of you," Edge started, folding his arms across his chest. "Then I realized you were just a big ol' decorating teddy bear that needed some love. And you have a weakness for cappucino."   
  
"Mocha . . ."   
  
"That's how we should have bought him off," Edge grumbled, leaning over and making an exaggerated show of whispering to his brother. "We should've just ditched him at a Starbucks or something. That would've solved everything."   
  
"I heard that, boy. You should learn to respect your elders."   
  
"I would if they weren't coffee junkies."   
  
"Now that I think of it," Christian interrupted, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "remember how in that Leprechaun movie all they had to do was throw shoes out to keep the guy from killing them? 'Cause it drove him nuts to have messy shoes or something just as stupid? We could have hidden out in Foot Locker."   
  
"As hilarious as you might think you are, I'm dangerously close to murdering both of you," Gangrel warned in a low, threatening voice. "I'm cold, wet, hungry, and my pride has been kicked and beaten by you two little monsters all evening. Provided I don't go home and bathe in holy water and drive a wooden crucifix into my heart, you can expect proper retribution." He paused, shaking his head in disgust. "In the course of an hour you've managed to insult, degrade, humiliate, and otherwise abuse me." He sighed quietly, ruffling his newspaper ad noisily. "Brats."   
  
"Dude. I think we pissed the witch off this time."   
  
"Which old witch?"   
  
"The wicked witch!" Christian replied cheerfully. He and Edge linked arms and started dancing around on the ramp, laughing and taking off running when Gangrel threw everything beside him at them, including several empty crates and a crowbar.   
  
"Find your own goddamned food!" He cried angrily, throwing another crate at them for emphasis. "You can both starve for all I care!"   
  
It took all of ten minutes before Edge and Christian managed to calm Gangrel down and back out onto the street, into the light sprinkles that remained of the rain. He took care to walk several steps in front of them, looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure they hadn't wandered off like two unruly children.   
  
"Hey Edge?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
The words to whatever Christian had planned on saying went completely out of his head when his brother turned his head casually to see what Christian wanted. He stared, mouth gaping, up at Edge, who had taken off his dark sunglasses to wipe the spots off with his shirt.   
  
"What the hell--!"  
  
"Um . . . Christian? You okay?"   
  
"Dude! Your eyes! They're . . ."   
  
"In my head, yes."   
  
Christian smacked Edge hard in the back of the head. "They're fucking *green* for Christ's sake! And not just like normal, I mean, they're like . . . they're glowing. That is seriously messed up."   
  
Edge shrugged carelessly and slid his glasses back on. "Now you know why I wear these things."   
  
"Huh uh! I've been around you my whole life and I've never seen that!"   
  
"That's because before, you were mortal." Christian stopped dead in his tracks, mouth still dropped open. "Close your mouth, Chris. People might get the wrong impression about you if you walk around like you've got lock-jaw."   
  
"This is *so* not right."   
  
"Hey Grel! Turn around for a sec." Gangrel reluctantly did as he was told, almost sending Christian into cardiac arrest when he noticed, for the first time, Gangrel's usually creepy but relatively normal black eyes were completely black, only the barest hint of a white outline around the outer rims of the irises.   
  
Unimpressed, Gangrel rolled his eyes and went on walking. "You had to do that to him, didn't you?"   
  
"I can't . . . whoa. This is weird." He tugged on Edge's jacket sleeve, slowing his brother's brisk walking pace. "What color are mine now?"   
  
"Blue. Bright blue. Like really clear water. They're kinda pretty, actually."   
  
"Edge, please stop hitting on your little brother. Have at least some dignity."   
  
"Fuck off, Grel."   
  
"Fine. Don't blame me when you have little inbred vampire babies, then."   
  
"Well, besides the fact he doesn't have fallopian tubes . . ."   
  
"Um...Edge?"   
  
Edge stopped his bickering with his sire momentarily, ready to start a new argument with Christian but surprised to see he was half a block behind, staring into the passenger side window of a car parked by the curb. He was about to ask what exactly he thought he was doing when he came to stand beside his brother, immediately realizing what was on Christian's mind.   
  
"Is there a reason why I can't see myself?"   
  
"A pretty good one that you're gonna smack yourself for not figuring out. You don't have a reflection anymore."   
  
"Seriously?"   
  
"No, this is all some elaborate scheme David Copperfield and I made up to drive you insane. Yes, dumbass. Seriously." He pointed to the window. "You don't see me in there either, do you?"   
  
"No, but I see dead people."   
  
Not even bothering to dignify that with a response, Edge tugged on a strand of Christian's hair. "You always complained about having picture days at school. I guess now you don't have to worry about that, huh?"   
  
"I can't even get my picture taken now? But I've got pictures of you!"   
  
Edge shook his head sadly. "Go back and take a look at all the pictures you've taken since I was changed. I promise you that I won't be in them."   
  
Christian put a hand to his head, snickering when that didn't register in the mirror, either. "This is crazy . . . but man, it's fuckin' awesome." He ducked below the window, popped up again, and grinned broadly. "Really fuckin' awesome."   
  
"Come on, Chris, you'll have lots of time to play with that at home. Yeah, it's fun for a while, but it gets old quick, trust me."   
  
"Now you see me, now you don't! Now you see me, now you --"   
  
"Now I'm gonna beat you if you don't hurry your ass up. I'm starving."   
  
"Killjoy."   
  
"Bitch."   
  
"From what I hear, you're on your back more than a coma patient." Edge growled something inaudible and quickened his pace. Christian smirked. "And score another one for me." 


	10. 9b

Gangrel stopped suddenly, hands on his hips. He surveyed their surroundings before turning, nodding shortly. "This looks like as good a place to start as any."   
  
"Start what?"   
  
Gangrel rolled his eyes. "To start hunting. We'll even let you do the honors of finding our target."   
  
Christian frowned, brow narrowing. "What am I supposed to do, just pick someone out at random and go, 'hey, can I suck you?'"   
  
Edge snorted. "Well, you could, but that kind of goes along with the lock-jaw thing. People would definitely get the wrong impression about you."   
  
"Who said it'd be wrong?" Edge blinked, prompting Christian to stick his tongue out in a raspberry. "Nyah."   
  
"Don't even start, you two," Gangrel groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. "I don't have the patience for it right now. You --" he pointed to Edge -- "find someone."   
  
"Aye aye, cap'n." He took off without another word, leaving Christian to let Gangrel pull him by the arm into a side alley darkened in shadow. Edge walked casually along the sidewalk, hands shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat he wore even in the middle of summer, and kept his head low, eyes silently taking in everything around him. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Sarah standing on the corner, back against a stop sign. This was going to be far too easy.   
  
"Hey," he whispered in her ear, making her jump very nearly into the street. She would have, had he not grabbed her wrist and pulled her back onto the curb. She offered her most charming grin in gratitude.   
  
"Hey, you!"   
  
"I thought you said you weren't hooking anymore."   
  
Sarah turned her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "I-I hadn't planned on it, but my boss found out I was still using and I got fired. So here I am."   
  
"Ah. That sucks." He paused to think over the irony of the comment and almost burst into laughter, but that might make him look too suspicious. He didn't have a chance to go on anyway, as Sarah pressed herself up against him, running a bony hand up over his shirt.   
  
"Why? You want somethin', darlin'?"   
  
Though repulsed by the stench of stale smoke on her breath, Edge nodded and toyed lightly with her hair. "Yeah, I do."   
  
"Need a fix?"   
  
"You could say that," he admitted after a brief hesitation, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her back into the alley. She giggled as he pushed her further into the shadows, not stopping until his back was pressed against the wall of a building and she stood in front of him.   
  
"You don't even wanna go somewhere else?" She asked quizzically, head tilted just slightly.   
  
"Here's fine." He leaned his head back, nodding when he saw Gangrel come up behind her. No other words were exchanged before Gangrel reached up with lightning quick speed, twisting her head until her neck snapped cleanly in two with an audible crack. She fell limply to the cold, wet alley floor, and Edge was still wiping the back of his hand across his mouth when he noticed Christian's wide-eyed stare.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Y-You killed her!"   
  
"Actually, Grel did."   
  
"Why the fuck did you have to kill her? Don't you think it looks a little suspicious when bodies start turning up everywhere?"   
  
"Which," Gangrel started, kneeling beside the body, "is precisely why we don't kill unless we must."   
  
"Oh, I get it. This was a special show for my benefit, right? Well, thanks, guys, but --"   
  
"It was easier this way to get enough blood for the three of us, short of breaking into the Red Cross."   
  
Christian sighed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Okay, fine. Whatever. Let's just get this over with, huh?"   
  
Gangrel smirked, waving his hand towards the body. "By all means. You get first go-around."   
  
"Um..." Christian faltered, rubbing the back of his head. "I-I don't know what to do."   
  
"If I start, will you join in?" Christian nodded after a moment, watching in horrified fascination as Gangrel sank his teeth into the girl's throat as effortlessly as though it had been water. Having hit a major arterie, a thin line of blood squirted out, and Christian immediately turned and dropped to his knees.   
  
"Chris," Edge started, rubbing Christian's back and holding his hair back as Christian emptied seemingly everything he'd ever eaten from his stomach. "Chris, it's okay. It's not this bad every time, I promise."   
  
The alley fell completely silent, but as soon as he heard the faint slurping noises behind him, Christian began retching again.   
  
"Jesus Christ, Grel, could you stop for just a second? I'm having a hard enough time calming him down without you providing sound effects over there."   
  
"I-I don't think I can do this," Christian stammered once he was able to speak again.   
  
Edge nodded sympathetically, reaching over to dab at the stray bits of vomit on Christian's chin with his shirt. He cast a mournful glance to his now ruined shirt before answering. "You drank from me. You can do this."   
  
Christian shook his head vehemently, almost as violently as the trembling that made his body rock back and forth of its own accord. "That was different. This is . . . this is fucking *sick*."   
  
"This is how we survive." Edge cupped Christian's face in his hands, turning him so their eyes were forced to meet. "Look at me, Chrissy. I don't like it anymore than you do, but we don't have a choice."   
  
"Don't call me Chrissy."   
  
"Sorry." He paused, brushing the hair back from Christian's face and forcing a weak, supportive smile. "Will you at least try? Please?"   
  
After an uncertain inner conflict, Christian nodded wordlessly and let Edge pull him over to the other side of the alley, helping him to his knees and kneeling at his side. Seeing how pale the body was already becoming, he immediately turned to run again but was caught by the shoulders in unnaturally strong hands.   
  
"Christian, drink."   
  
"I can't!"   
  
Edge sighed and pushed his brother down next to the body, hating the way Christian let out a startled yelp and began fighting viciously back, struggling to get back to his feet. With the scent of blood already strong in the air, he knew Christian's new fangs would surface whether he wanted them to or not, and it was just as soon as he heard Christian's strangled cry that he pushed his head close enough to the girl's neck to make his teeth pierce the skin. Christian mewled in the back of his throat, a muffled gutteral scream tearing out of him when his sensitive hearing caught the sickening sound of skin and muscle tearing.   
  
"Well," Gangrel started, sitting back on his haunches and wiping at his mouth. "I suppose that's one way to do it."   
  
"It's more polite than what you did to me when I refused to do it voluntarily," Edge pointed out with an angry scowl, hand still on the back of Christian's head. Gangrel scoffed.   
  
"I hardly think so."   
  
"You dropped a dead body on me, you idiot!"   
  
"Potato, potahto. Are you trying to smother him?"   
  
"He's fighting me."   
  
"I'd fight you, too, if you were trying to smother me."   
  
"He doesn't breathe anymore!"   
  
Gangrel huffed. "It's the principle of the thing."   
  
Edge was tempted to continue the argument until he felt Christian's hand reach up to brush his own away. "Are you drinking?" The hand made a thumbs up sign, so Edge shrugged and took Gangrel's place on the other side, drinking all he wanted and then resettling himself at his brother's side, surprised to see he was still drinking hungrily. "Jeez. Slow down, Chris, you're gonna pop something."   
  
Barely a minute later Christian pulled away, wiping his mouth and groaning. Edge glanced over at him worriedly. "You okay?" Christian nodded, stretching out on the ground and resting his head on Edge's thigh, eyes drifting closed as soon as he felt fingers threading themselves through his hair. "I'll take that as a yes."   
  
"That was quite possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever done in my life."   
  
"I thought that was Jeff?"   
  
Too tired to do much else, Christian shook his head. "Believe it or not, I've never slept with Jeff. Or Matt. Too much inbreeding in that family for my taste."   
  
"So says the guy with his head in his brother's lap."   
  
"Chumpstain."   
  
Edge chuckled under his breath, leaning back against the cool brick of the building and staring up at the sky overhead, stars barely visible in the glare of the city lights. Christian caught Gangrel watching them and waved.   
  
"I don't know whether to be touched or revolted."   
  
Christian wisely ignored the remark and countered with one of his own. "So now that it's over with. . .how was that for my first time?"   
  
"Honestly?" Christian nodded. "Disastrous. But you'll get better, I'm sure. I have a lot of faith in you, little one." He bent to press a quick, chaste kiss to Christian's forehead.   
  
"Hey, he likes me!" Christian announced, beaming up at Edge. His brother returned with a smirk.   
  
"Yeah, but that's like the kiss of death. You'll probably wake up with a horse head in your bed."   
  
"I wouldn't do that to him," Gangrel assurred, rising to his feet and brushing his knees off. "You, though...I would put the entire horse in bed with you. Maybe even a cute little baby pony fresh out of its mothers womb."   
  
"It's nice to know you care."   
  
"Don't mention it."   
  
******  
  
Date: July 20, 2002 9:25 EST  
From: shanem@wwe.com  
To: awesomedge@wwe.com  
Sub: Slacker!  
  
You know, when you said you and Christian wanted some time off, I didn't know you were planning on being gone for the entire millennium. I know I'm an exceptionally nice, charming, well-meaning person, but I don't appreciate being taken advantage of. If you'd like to see another paycheck, I suggest you both get back here ASAP. Unless, of course, you'd both like to work the OVW scene for the next few decades...  
  
Since Matt hasn't seen you for a while, he says hi, by the way.   
  
Shane  
  
-------  
  
Date: July 22, 2002 10:02 EST  
From: shanem@wwe.com  
To: awesomedge@wwe.com  
Sub: *poke*   
  
Are you alive? Or are you just ignoring me? I know you're out there! Write back if you value your job.   
  
Your BOSS  
  
-------  
  
Date: July 25, 2002 1:54 EST  
From: shanem@wwe.com  
To: awesomedge@wwe.com  
Sub: Should I send flowers?   
  
Alright, Beavis, this isn't funny anymore. You've turned your cell phone off, no one knows where you're at, I have no way to reach you or Christian, and I'm pretty sure I just saw you both on Unsolved Mysteries. If you don't answer this time, I'm sending out condolence cards to your family. Assuming you have one.  
  
Me  
  
-------  
  
Date: July 27, 2002 3:41 EST  
From: shanem@wwe.com  
To: awesomedge@wwe.com  
Sub: R.I.P.  
  
I walked into the locker room yesterday and they were holding a candle light vigil for their departed friends. They had yours and Christian's action figures surrounded by flowers and yellow ribbons. D-Von even delivered a nice little eulogy. Jeff wrote a poem for you. It sucked, but it's the thought that counts. Overall, it was a beautiful service.   
  
-------  
  
Date: July 31, 2002 4:22 EST  
From: shanem@wwe.com  
To: awesomedge@wwe.com  
Sub: (none)  
  
Dammit, Edge, would you answer your email once in a while? One of the tech guys that runs the website and everything just called me to see if I was spamming you! Maybe if I knew you were still, you know, alive and everything, I wouldn't do this.   
  
PS: Matt's already made it clear that if you bit it, he wants your CD collection.   
  
-------  
  
"Christian?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"I think Shane wants us to go back to work." Pause. "And remind me to smack Matt in the head next time I see him." 


	11. 10

Oy, but the musi are ganging up on me. This chapter's short, but mostly because it's a filler chapter. So, yes, I'm aware that this chapter sucks, but the next one will be better, I promise. :)  
  
------  
  
"You are without a doubt the strangest and quite possibly most deranged person I have ever had the misfortune to know."   
  
"I vant to suck your blood!"   
  
"Christian, either take that silly thing off or I'm going to kill you. Slowly."   
  
"Dracula is not amused and he vants to suck your blood!"   
  
"I am about --this-- close to scattering your entrails around the country, little one."   
  
"Are you not entertained?"   
  
"Edge! Don't encourage him!"   
  
"Don't worry, Grel. I don't think Dracula would fit in Gladiator, anyway."   
  
Christian snickered, easily sidestepping Gangrel's half-hearted attempt to snatch the cape away from him. The three stood in Gangrel's living room, Edge perched atop the back of the couch and twirling his car keys around his finger. A half hour earlier Christian had found a cape in his bedroom closet and had since donned it and refused to take it off for any reason. In fact, he insisted on spreading it out with his arms and adopting a bad Romanian accent while chasing his companions around the house. Gangrel had been willing to overlook it until Christian tripped over the back  
of it and went sailing gracelessly over the stair railing. The shock had triggered reflexes given from an ancient source, and he hovered in midair, wide-eyed and excited.   
  
"Look!" He'd cried, contorting himself into a karate pose, arms in the air and one leg halfway drawn to his chest. "It's Dracula meets the Matrix!" His mistake was when he tried to do a three-sixty spin. His concentration collapsed and his mind registered that it wasn't supposed to yet know how to fly, and he finished his plummet to the hardwood floor.   
  
That had, more or less, been the moment when Gangrel began trying to wrench the cape away from him for the boy's own safety.   
  
"Pretty snazzy getup here, Grel," Christian announced suddenly, pulling the cape open and gesturing to the fine red silk lining the inside of the black fabric. Gangrel rolled his eyes. "So when do I get mine?"   
  
"I've told you, Christian, it's only for decoration."  
  
"You had to have it for a reason."   
  
"I knew someday a boy was going to steal it and torture me into my grave with it," Gangrel snapped irritably, crooking a bony finger at Christian and motioning inward. "Over here. Now."   
  
"Spoil sport," Christian mumbled, obediently making his way over to Gangrel and letting him remove the cape. "I was getting bored with it anyway."   
  
"It comes in handy at costume parties. I never have to buy an outfit."   
  
"Because you're cheap."   
  
"I prefer the term resourceful."   
  
"Cheap-o."   
  
Gangrel scowled and folded the cape, then set it on the desk behind him. "You're testing me, boy." He stood back with his hands on his hips, taking in the two young men before him with a nod. "Well then. I suppose you're ready to go, aren't you?"   
  
"Not that you're hinting or anything..."   
  
"Of course not." He waved his hand. "I'm just tired of the Martha Stewart jokes. She wouldn't know burgundy from cherry plum if it bit her on the ass."   
  
Christian raised an eyebrow and grinned, but Edge's hand clamping over his mouth prevented any sort of sarcastic retort.   
  
"Anyway, I want you both to know that you're more than welcome to come back whenever you like. I'm not promising that I'll always be here, but I'm sure you can find your own way in."   
  
"You're probably too cheap to pay for locks on the doors."   
  
Gangrel scowled and pointed a threatening finger at Christian. "I meant what I said about liking you better when you were silent and never spoke." Shaking his head, he bent and pulled an old chest from underneath the desk, opened it, and then pulled out another smaller box that fit in one hand. Then he walked to the couch where Christian had seated himself beside his brother, pushing it into his hands. "Here. Take this with you."   
  
"This had so better be a little tiny cape or something." Christian paused, eyes lighting. "Dude! What if it is? I gotta go get a hamster or guinea pig or --"   
  
"Christian."   
  
"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, pulling the delicate latch at the front and sliding the top of the box back. He blinked at the contents, turning a narrowed brow up to Gangrel. "It's dirt."   
  
"My, aren't you the observant one? Yes, Christian, it's dirt. But it's your native soil."   
  
Christian made a face. "Ew. That sounds vaguely gross."   
  
Gangrel, in a tremendous show of patience, ignored him. "Keep a little of it with you at all times. You'll draw strength from it."   
  
"From dirt."   
  
"Yes."   
  
Christian turned questioning eyes up at Edge, who pulled at a necklace around his neck to show a tiny vial dangling from it, filled with dark brown dirt. "Okay, Grel, uh...thanks for the gift. I thought you were just getting me back for giving you a blender for your birthday that one year."   
  
"I'm not that petty, little one."   
  
"That's good, 'cause --"   
  
"I exact my revenge in much better ways than to give you dirt." Gangrel offered a disarming grin. "Here. I want you to take this, too." He pulled a chain off his neck and slid it over Christian's head. "It marks you as one of mine."   
  
"...Excuse me?"   
  
Gangrel flicked curious eyes up to Edge, not too surprised to see him immediately look to the floor. "You didn't tell him about the Council."   
  
"I didn't really think it was my place."   
  
"Council? Hey, hello? I'd like to know if some group of psycho vampires are gonna try to kill me when I step out the door."   
  
"Forgive us for not explaining it to you sooner, Christian," Gangrel urged, taking a seat in the desk chair and turning to face his comrades. He took a deep breath, tapped his fingers against his kneecaps, and began his speech. "To make a very complicated story somewhat easier to understand, the short of it all is that there are very few vampires in this world, when taken in proportion with the rest of the population. Because we are all typically far and few between at all corners of the globe, some would try to take advantage of the situation and take the risk of exposing us to mortals. Because of *that*, it's been necessary to keep a council of elders to monitor how we deal with each other and the humans we live with. If one of us is found to be acting foolishly..." He shrugged. "They are dealt with accordingly."   
  
"And you need to mark me because..."   
  
"Really, that's probably just more paranoid overprotection on my part. You're a new, very young addition to our kind, and if you happen to run into others, they might try to . . ."   
  
"Freshman initiation crap, huh?"   
  
"Basically. I happen to be one of the oldest acting members of the Council, and other vampires would be wise not to cross me...or my friends," he added with a nod to Edge. "Does that explain everything?"   
  
Christian put a hand to his forehead and slid backwards onto the couch. "I think my brain's melting."   
  
"Melting! Melting!" Edge called in a high voice, shrinking away from some unseen horror apparently coming from the ceiling. Christian laughed from the front of the sofa.   
  
"Ding dong, the witch is dead..."   
  
Gangrel closed his eyes, counted to ten, and turned on his heel to go into the kitchen. "Get out of my house, you morons. The remodlers are supposed to be here any minute, and I'd rather they not show up to see me end your miserable lives."   
  
Fifteen minutes later, both brothers sat in Edge's Rodeo, which had inexplicably shown up a few days earlier. Christian tried not to think about it too much, realizing that he had spent the past couple weeks with two borderline psychotic vampires. A car showing up from thin air shouldn't be too surprising, given the situation.   
  
"Hey!" Christian cried victoriously, stopping his search for a decent radio station when a familiar song caught his attention. "It's Jewel!"   
  
"And I should care because..."   
  
"She's cute, man."   
  
"She's Alaskan."   
  
"So? That's, like, practically Canadian."   
  
Edge rolled his eyes and kept driving in silence, not speaking again until a sudden thought occurred to him and made him frown. "Um...Chris?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"What are we gonna tell Shane when we get back?"   
  
"The truth."   
  
"Somehow, I don't think he'd be understanding about us running from Dracula."   
  
"Good point." Christian paused, drumming his fingers restlessly along the dashboard. "I dunno. Family crisis or something. That always works for everyone else." He paused for another moment, yawned, and looked out the window. "Um...Where are we, exactly?"   
  
"Toledo." When met with a blank stare, Edge laughed lightly. "Ohio."   
  
"Uh...huh. So where are we going?"  
  
"Pittsburgh. I called Matt last night and, supposedly, that's where the next show is."   
  
Christian snorted. "And you trust that backwater hick to know what he's talking about?"   
  
"Not really, no, but he was the only person I could reach." 


	12. 11

Note: There's some slightly graphic m/f sex in this chapter, so if that bugs you, skip it. Also, there's some slightly graphic allusions to rape, so consider yourself warned again.  
------------  
  
"Have I mentioned lately how bored I am?"   
  
"Yes. Several times, in fact." Edge noisily turned a page in his book, looking up over the top of it to scowl across the room at his brother. "And if you tell me one more time, I'm probably going to murder you in some horribly painful way."   
  
Christian threw his hands up in frustration and resumed his pacing. The past hour had been spent walking from one end of the hotel room to the other, finding very little along the way that could hold his interest for more than a few distracted moments. Edge, meanwhile, just sat on his bed, back against the headboard, reading some beaten up paperback that he'd found in the back seat of his car. He, bless his irritating heart, didn't seem remotely bored.   
  
"Edge," Christian tried again, pushing his hair back from his face with one hand, "If I get any more bored, I think I'm gonna cry."   
  
"Then go find something to do."   
  
"Like what?"   
  
"If you're literate, you're welcome to read one of my books."   
  
Christian scowled and threw a pillow at Edge's head. "Useless bastard. Why did I agree to room with you again?"   
  
Edge cooly moved the pillow aside and turned another page in his book, seemingly not in the least bothered. "You were afraid The Count from Sesame Street was going to drink your blood while you slept if you stayed with anyone else."   
  
"...You know, I must've missed that little detail. Thanks for reminding me."   
  
"No problem." He waved his book as Christian passed his bed for the thousandth time. "You wanna read this one? It's got porn in it."   
  
Christian stopped in his tracks, interest caught. "Really?"   
  
"Yeah. There's, like, a whole chapter sex scene with a werewolf and an alien." He made a sudden face, nose scrunching up tightly. "I think I remember why I tried to get rid of this thing in the first place."   
  
"And you thought I'd be interested in it." Christian shook his head in faint amusement, then took a longing glance out the balcony window. "I wanna go out."   
  
"We're related, man, and even while the Hardys might be doin' God knows what --"   
  
"No, dork-o, I mean I wanna go *out*. You know, interact with humanity and all that."   
  
Edge arched a brow and then buried his nose in his book again. "I'm sorry."   
  
"Doesn't it bother you? I mean, all you do...you go to a show, wrestle, come back to your room, read, sleep, travel, do it all over again. It's driving me insane."   
  
"You're not going out, Christian."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
Edge sighed heavily, creasing a page in the book and then tossing it beside him on the bed. He met Christian's eyes levelly, voice low and calm as if explaining something to a small child. "How long has it been since you were changed? About a month and a half, maybe? Two months? You're not ready to go out on your own."   
  
"What, you scared I'm gonna get staked or something? 'Cause really, if Buffy comes up to me, I'm not gonna run."   
  
"Chris..."   
  
"Have you *seen* that little leather thing she wears sometimes?"   
  
"Christian, no. You're not going out on your own. Absolutely not."   
  
Christian folded his arms across his chest in stubborn, silent challenge. He'd never been one to surrender to authority, and he certainly wasn't about to begin now. "You wanna bet?"   
  
"Okay, okay. I'll tell ya what. We'll flip for it. I win, you stay and rent a movie or something. You win, you go out and do whatever, but I want you back well before dawn. Got it?" Christian nodded, and Edge dug a quarter from his pocket and tossed it to his brother. "You flip. I'll call."   
  
Christian grinned malevolently, shaking the coin a few times for good measure before flinging it up into the air.   
  
"Heads!"  
  
He bent over the quarter when it hit the carpet, hands on his knees.   
  
Instantly, he grabbed his coat and hustled out the door. Edge shook his head and crawled down the bed to retrieve his quarter, eyes widening to see it had in fact landed on heads. "Hey!"   
  
But Christian was by then long gone.   
  
******  
  
Generations have marveled about and searched for Atlantis, the lost continent swallowed by water and destined to forever be known as the civilization that never was. Those who believed in the mythical place, apparently, made the mistake of focusing their search in the Atlantic Ocean.   
  
Christian found Atlantis in downtown Minneapolis.   
  
True, it was turned into a trendy night club and had flourescent lighting everywhere, but he was starting to grow fond of the little place. The giant clam-shaped seats and overturned seashell booths were a nice touch, as were the scantily clad employees dressed like mermaids. The lamps with swirling plastic fish in the base sitting on every table were perhaps a bit much, but he was willing to overlook that.   
  
So there he sat, nursing a half-empty bottle of beer and plucking at the label while silently taking in the crowd around him. For the most part, they seemed to all be relatively close to his age, and he was quite thankful for that. Forget Edge. Christian had every intention on turning up the charm and spending the rest of the night in some lovely lady's bed. That, or he'd drink himself into unconsciousness. Whatever happened first.   
  
Unbeknownst to him, at the bar stood two women who had more than a passing interest in him.   
  
"What do you think he's drinking?"   
  
"Rachel, please. I thought we agreed no torturing the normals tonight."   
  
"We did." The woman addressed smirked and jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate Christian sitting by himself in a secluded booth. "And I'm keeping my promise."   
  
Her companion's eyes widened at the implication in her friend's words. "Is he...?"   
  
"You've got eyes in your head, Gwenia. Look for yourself."   
  
She did; she almost dropped her martini as well. "This is insane."   
  
"It's a sign, if you ask me."   
  
"Of what?"   
  
Rachel shrugged her thin shoulders, tossing her hair -- dyed blond for the occasion tonight -- over her shoulder in exaggerated pride. "Of my sex appeal."   
  
Gwenia snorted. "Right."   
  
"Okay, l'il miss goth geek," Rachel teased, nudging her friend in the shoulder and pointing to the large silver rings standing out against the pale skin of Gwenia's hands, "just because you can't get a man..."   
  
"I can too!"   
  
"You could if he wasn't scared you'd sacrifice him or something."   
  
Gwenia pouted, folding her arms over her chest, exposed moderately thanks to the tight black corset she wore. It matched her long black lace sleeves and tight black leather skirt, topped off by black combat boots and her naturally black hair. Rachel, never having been a fan of her friend's extreme dressing habits, went for something a little less likely to have her tagged as a threat to humanity and more of a threat to single men. Though she'd opted for simplicity in her outfit, Gwenia had to admit to herself that she had never seen a plain red halter top and a pair of faded blue jeans worked so well.   
  
Rachel sneaked a glance over her shoulder, scowling when Christian turned and the light from an overhead lamp glinted off of something gold hanging around his neck. "Fuck me."   
  
"I'm straight, Rachel, despite all claims to the contrary."   
  
"No, look." Rachel pulled Gwenia in front of her and pointed. "He's one of Gangrel's brats."   
  
Gwenia rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her drink. "Okay, that solves it. Let it go."   
  
"Huh uh. No damn way am I gonna let this chance go."   
  
"Chance?" Gwenia looked up at the taller girl, eyes narrowed. "Rachel? What're you--"   
  
"I'm buying him a drink, Gwen. What's it look like I'm doing?"   
  
"Rachel --"   
  
"Gwen," Rachel mimicked in a whiny voice, rolling her eyes for effect. "Look, you've been on my ass all night, okay? Let me have a little fun with this one."   
  
"I don't think . . ." Stopped by the sudden look she was given, Gwenia threw her hands in the air. "Fine. Whatever. But don't blame me when Gangrel hunts you down and rips your heart out through your ears. You know how protective he is of that stupid kid of his."   
  
Ignoring her and making quite a point to do so, Rachel waited and watched as a short woman previously standing behind the bar carried a bloody mary over to Christian's table, then pointed their way. Christian turned a curious glance to them, waved shyly, and then gestured to the empty seat across from him. Rachel flashed a devilish grin, tugging Gwenia along with her and stopping at Christian's side.   
  
"Hey, cutie."   
  
Well, that was direct. Christian started to smile up at her, then paled immediately when he noticed an unearthly glow to her eyes, bright emerald green that reflected bits of silver throughout. He shot a startled look to the girl standing behind her, exhaling heavily to see her eyes were glowing several shades brighter than the real brown color they would otherwise have been.   
  
"You're..."   
  
"Yup," Rachel interrupted, inviting herself to sit in his lap and completely disregarding his surprised squeak. "And call me crazy, but I think you are, too." Unsure of what else to do, he gulped and nodded slowly. "Sweet."   
  
Once he regained his ability to speak, he picked up his glass and sloshed the drink around restlessly. "Why...uh, how come there're two of you in the same place?"   
  
"Two of us? Honey, are you already drunk?"   
  
Christian blushed faintly. "No, no, I mean...two...you know..."   
  
"Vampires?" She laughed at the innocent wide-eyed look she received. "Calm down. Even if anyone *did* overhear, they'd just think we were a bunch of loser kids who are too into role playing games. And if you must know, Gwen and I are friends. I'm Rachel, by the way."   
  
"Christian."   
  
"I like it," she announced, bending to nip at his earlobe and making him jerk involuntarily. "It just rolls right off the tongue. Wonder what it sounds like when it's screamed."   
  
"Um...Rachel," Christian started, making an attempt to move her that was thwarted by her pinning his hands on her hips. He looked helplessly to Gwenia over Rachel's shoulder, but she wasn't looking. "Rachel, maybe we should...talk?"   
  
"I don't wanna talk."   
  
He whimpered when she ground into him while turning to catch his mouth in a deep kiss. He'd planned on talking his way into some lovely lady's bed, sure, but this hadn't exactly been what he'd had in mind. Which, of course, wasn't to say he was complaining. "Then what *do* you want?" He asked just as soon as his lips were free to move on their own. As something of an instant reflex, his tongue darted out and tasted strawberry lip gloss at the corners of his mouth, making him debate about whether or not he really wanted to get this woman out of the mood.   
  
That didn't seem like much of a possibility, however, as she leaned forward and cupped his face, long nails scraping lightly along his jaws and their noses touching. "You really wanna know?" Unable to do anything but nod slightly, Christian waited silently for an answer. "I wanna fuck you."   
  
And once again she was being incredibly forward.   
  
"I...ah...I'm not used to being propositioned..."   
  
"Shh," she scolded, putting a finger to his lips and stopping any protest building on his tongue. "I know what you're thinking, honey, and let me tell you right now that I'm not just some cheap whore who wants your money. What I want," she corrected, moving her hands down his neck and over the cotton fabric of his shirt, down his chest and stopping at the waistband of his jeans, "is you. Specifically, I want my legs wrapped around you and my hands in your hair, and I want to be screaming your name the rest of the night."   
  
"That's it?"   
  
"That's it. No strings, Christian, just you, me, and my bed. Have you ever made love to a vampire?"   
  
"Not that I know of."   
  
Rachel grinned, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth and chewing lightly before rising to her feet. "You're so cute." She readjusted her top, then looked down expectantly at a shell-shocked Christian. "So whaddya say? You wanna come back to my place with me or you wanna sit here with your drink and a fish lamp?"   
  
After a moment's thought, Christian slid out of the booth and tossed a few bills on the table top, not bothering to count how much he'd thrown down. He didn't have time to anyway; Rachel slipped her hand in his and pulled him through the crowd to the door, down the sidewalk to an inconspicuous white sedan parked at the curb. Before getting into the front passenger's side, he noticed Gwenia staring at him as if longing to say something, but in the end she only shook her head and climbed into the backseat. He wasn't too concerned, though. Rather, all he could think about was Edge's insistence on reading his book while *he* was going to get laid by some horny blond bombshell.   
  
Life was certainly beginning to take a turn for the better.   
  
Since the woman was obviously not much for the art of conversation, Christian took to watching the various buildings pass by in a blur of lights. Some old Aerosmith song was playing from the radio, but he couldn't recall the name of it with so many other things pressing at the front of his mind. The trendy downtown city scenery gave way to the slightly less intriguing lure of typical urban dwellings, run down apartments and corner convenience stores. Before he really had a chance to focus on anything, the car came to a stop and Rachel was sliding the keys from the ignition.   
  
"This is my humble abode," she pointed out with a flourish, hand waving across the street. Christian wordlessly followed along behind her, unnerved greatly by Gwenia's eyes fixed on him but refusing to let that show. Well, too badly. He was pretty sure she could see his fists clenching at his sides, but that was a detail.   
  
After four flights of stairs, they stopped outside a blue door that looked impossibly similar to those around it, and no sooner had the door opened than Christian found himself being pulled inside the room by his shirt collar, then pressed against a wall and forced into a ravenous kiss. Something about Rachel, the way her eyes glimmered in that eerie light, the way she moved, her need, something about her kept him under her spell, unable to resist her. Not that he particularly wanted to fight her.   
  
He groaned, head back as she began sucking lightly at the sensitive flesh over his Adam's apple, all the while running her hands from his shoulders down to his stomach, undoing the belt that held his too-large pants on his hips. No woman had taken complete control over him that way before, and he was really beginning to wonder why it pleased him so to finally find one that was willing to take charge. Then again, something told him that if he told her no, she'd probably kick his ass and take his wallet.   
  
Pushing the thoughts back, he focused on returning her eagerness in kind, untying the knot at the back of her neck that held her shirt on and letting it drop to the floor. He bent, exploring the soft skin exposed to him and licking a thin trail along the tops of her breasts. Her back arched and she dug her nails into his scalp, walking backwards and taking him with her until they were in her bedroom and she fell back onto her bed, pulling him on top of her. She made quick work of removing his clothes, drawing him closer by wrapping her legs around his waist and being rewarded with a low moan when the move caused his hardened length to brush against her thighs. She snapped the waistband of his boxers, grinning impishly at the surprised look he gave her.   
  
It didn't last long; he forgot about it and let his hands roam, eventually stopping at her hips and rocking lightly against her, perhaps in some twisted mockery of what was to come. She wrapped a hand through his hair and brought his head down to her neck, eyes closing in pleasure when she felt his tongue running along her throat.   
  
"You ever fed from a vampire, sweetheart?"   
  
He shook his head and looked up at her with eyes so trusting she almost backed down in their sincerity. But then, she reminded herself harshly, this *was* Gangrel's boy, and he was the enemy, regardless of how cute he may be. That being decided, she turned her head and gestured to her neck.   
  
"Do it. You'll love it. It's . . . an experience."   
  
Uneasily, he accepted the invitation and sank his teeth into her neck, vaguely aware of Gwenia nearby shouting at him to stop. He suddenly felt as though he'd been trapped underwater, listening to someone shout from the shore and trying desperately to make their words reach him. Images, memories that weren't his own flashed through his head in a lightning quick procession that left him reeling. Rachel was at some sort of burial for one of her own...her mate, Christian was informed from a source he couldn't pinpoint. Gangrel and a group of other men were looming over a man on the ground, with Gangrel holding a wooden stake black with blood.   
  
Then, as suddenly as they came, the memories were gone, leaving him in blissful silence. That was until he heard the unmistakable sound of someone weeping and trying to hide it. A corridor of his mind opened and he felt himself tumbling down an endless shaft, spinning rapidly and out of control until he landed roughly in a bedroom. His childhood bedroom, he realized after a confused moment. He could hear Edge screaming in the room next to his, begging whoever was there with him to stop and leave him alone and...and...oh God, oh Jesus, no, it was happening again and soon his father would be in to see what he was crying about and he really needed to stop before that happened but he couldn't seem to be able to make his tears cease.  
  
Gwenia wrapped her arms around Christian, pulling him off of Rachel and almost fuming with rage. "You stupid bitch! Are you *trying* to get Gangrel to kill us both?"   
  
Rachel shrugged, biting her finger and healing the wound herself, then slipping into the floor beside Christian, tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. "It's his fault for not telling his own goddamned brats what to watch for and letting them outta the crib before they're ready." She smiled maliciously, delighted at how Christian was in hysterics, pulling at his hair and crying wildly. "Just for future reference, babe, never drink from another vampire. It really fucks with your head. Nasty side effects, insanity, all that." She patted him on the head, then rose to her feet and frowned down at him. "Too bad I didn't go ahead and wait, though. I bet you're a great lay."   
  
******  
  
"Ah'll raise ya two pretzels an' a Twizzler."   
  
"Ah fold."   
  
"Helluva poker face, Matty," Jeff cooed, grinning as Matt threw a Hershey kiss at his head. "Hey, now, you're never gonna win if ya keep throwin' y'chips everywhere."   
  
Edge shook his head in amusement, trying to figure out when exactly he and the Hardys had gone from intense enemies to poker playing friends. Soon after Christian left, the two showed up outside his door, arms loaded with junk food and Matt with a deck of cards in his mouth, for lack of some other means of transportation.   
  
"We're bored," Jeff had explained in his typical straightforward way, pushing into the room and dropping his food on the floor, then clearing out a spot to sit down. "So we decided to come play poker with ya. Thanks for invitin' us."   
  
And, being the cheap kids that they were, they were playing for food. Of course, Edge reasoned to himself, the way Matt ate sometimes, that was probably more valuable to him than cash ever would be.   
  
He'd tried his best to ignore them and finish reading his book, but combined with the fact it was going into another detailed sexual encounter with the werewolf and alien, the allure of the two brothers broke him down. Digging out the secret stash of candy he carried with him at all times, he chipped in and bought his way into the game with a fun size Milky Way bar.  
  
At that precise moment, he was looking through the wet bar in hopes of finding something strong enough to kill the headache forming in his head. Just as he managed to find something that didn't sound too alcoholic and get it into a glass, a dull pain akin to a sharp splinter announced its presence. It steadily increased until the pressure was unbearable, and blinding lights pulsed behind his eyes. He cried out suddenly, dropping his glass and shattering it on the floor, succeeding only in receiving two pairs of stunned eyes fixed on him. Memories he'd fought to block for longer than he could remember bubbled to the surface, pouring over into his consciousness and turning him into little more than a mass of trembling bones on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth and trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Thoughts -- not his -- were at every corner of his mind, fighting their way in and mixing with his own, thoughts he quickly recognized as Christian's. Wherever he was, whatever was happening, he was scared out of his mind and silently pleading for anyone to hear and help him.   
  
Much as he wanted to, he couldn't get past the feeling of invisible hands pinning his hips to the mattress, a phantom pain from years gone by new and fresh, searing and tearing him apart from the inside out. Tears slipped warm and rapidly down his cheeks, mimicking the trails the blood made down his fist from where he bit his knuckles to keep from crying out; that never helped, and it only ever made things worse. Finally the pain became too much and he screamed, an ear-splitting sound from somewhere deep in his gut that ended abruptly when his head was shoved into his pillow. His heaving sobs made it impossible to get any air at all, and after a moment stars danced in his vision and he prayed for death to come swiftly and take him from this hellish nightmare. Then there was air, and he found himself back in the alley, in the snow, against a chain-link fence without anywhere to go, without anyone to call to for help. His jacket did little to shield against the cold, but he was burning up anyway. He was shaking, his entire body ached, and he knew that this night would be his last. That was when he saw a dark figure round the corner and start down the alley, and for a brief, agonizing moment, he thought it was a dealer he'd ripped off at some point come to make his death that much more humiliating and meaningless. Instead, he caught a glimpse of a pale demon speaking the words of an angel.   
  
Then, all at once, he was aware of his surroundings again. He was still in his hotel room, years after all of that, and looking through his tears to see Matt and Jeff both watching him worriedly. They were discussing something but he couldn't understand what they were saying, thanks to the voices replaying themselves over and over again in his head, louder and louder until he wanted to crawl back into himself and die just to keep them away. Without warning, Jeff took off for the door at a sprint, but Edge used what strength he could to grab his ankle and catch him unaware, sending him sprawling to the floor.   
  
"No," he ordered through clenched teeth, ignoring the cuts he'd opened in his face by unknowingly clawing at it with his hands moments earlier. "C-Call..."  
  
Before he could go on, Matt was clutching the phone and poised to dial. Edge tried to grin in gratitude, but a wave of sorrow overcame him before he could. He closed his eyes to regain his bearings, then rattled off a series of numbers before losing his calm and launching into another screaming fit, burying his face in his knees and sobbing into them.   
  
"H-Hello?" Matt asked the person on the other end of the line. "Yeah, um...Shit. Ah don't even know what t'say. Um...Who is this?"   
  
"Who is this?"   
  
"Matt Hardy. Ah'm one of Edge's friends."   
  
"I know. He talks about you. What can I do for you? And if he wants to chit-chat, tell him to go screw off because I'm replacing the bathtub right this moment--"   
  
"He's lost it. Ah...Ah dunno what's goin' on, but he just went nuts all of a sudden. He keeps screamin' somethin' about somethin' or other in his head and we -- me an' Jeff -- we can't get him to calm down. We were gonna go try to get a doctor but he wouldn't let us, and he told me to call this number and now he's out of it again and --"   
  
"Breathe, Matt. You won't do him any good at all if you hyperventilate on him." Matt nodded, scrubbing a helpless hand through his hair and casting another worried glance in his friend's direction. "Where are you?"   
  
"Minneapolis. We-we're stayin' in the Marriot. Room two-thirty-six."   
  
"Wonderful. Thank you, Matt. I'll be there within the hour."   
  
The line went dead, and Matt dropped the phone carelessly into its cradle. The only other thing he knew to do was try to keep the three of them from all going completely insane.   
  
Almost forty minutes later, the door flew open and Gangrel stepped into the room, looking haggard and more than a little angry. "Stupid desk clerks. How hard is it for them to believe that I might just be here for a visit and I'd rather not hear about their great room rates?" He shook his head, taking in the scene around him. Candy was strewn everywhere across the floor, Jeff sat on the bed with his head in his hands, and still by the wet bar were Edge and Matt. Edge was trembling and crying, face pressed against Matt's chest as the other man whispered comforting words into his hair. He knelt beside them, looking first to Edge, then to Matt. "Has he changed at all?"   
  
"Huh uh. If you don't mind me askin', what the hell's goin' on here?"   
  
Gangrel waved his hand and motioned towards the door. "I'll explain later. For now, you'll have to leave us."   
  
"No way!" Jeff cried, jumping to his feet indignantly. "How do we know you're not the one who caused this in the first place?"   
  
Gangrel turned irritated eyes up to Jeff, blackening with every second that passed. "You and your brother would be doing me a great service if you left now. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to snap both your necks to shut you up. This boy's life is more important to me than both yours. I need to talk to him, and he's not going to be able to do that while you're distracting him. Now, if you'd like to take your chances with me, then by all means, stay."   
  
Jeff blinked, but wasn't given a chance to reply before Matt dragged him bodily out the door, shutting it quietly behind them.   
  
Turning back to Edge, Gangrel clasped his shoulders and squeezed until he finally looked up. "I let you out of my sight for a few weeks and look what happens. Edge, lad, can you tell me what happened? I know you don't know exactly what it was, but try."   
  
Edge drew in a shuddering breath. "I-I don't know. I was fine one second and then the next I just...I don't know. I felt all these-these old memories and fears and everything again, and now all I can feel is Christian's emotions. He's...whatever's happening, he's terrified of something. It's like he's lost in his own mind or something, I-I don't know how to explain it."   
  
"Your bond is making it worse," Gangrel explained softly, brushing a few bits of hair away from Edge's tear-dampened cheeks. "Your own fear is fueling his and vice-versa, so for both your sakes you're going to have to try to calm down. Understand?" Edge nodded wearily, dropping his head back against the wooden bottom of the bar and letting his eyes drift closed. "Good. Now. Because the bond between you both is still strong, I need you to locate him. Can you do that for me, Edge?"   
  
Edge tried to do as he was told, reaching out across a plane no mortal would ever know, seeking his brother but coming back with a forceful wave of despair and horror. His tears came harder, faster, and his breath quickened to gasps. "Oh Jesus, Grel, he...I can't get through to him. I can't...I can't..."   
  
"Dammit, Edge, you have to concentrate!"   
  
"I can't!" Edge snapped back, eyes flying open to show two desperate green eyes lost in a swirling haze of confusion and hopelessness. "Why don't *you* do it? You're the calm one here!"   
  
"Because," Gangrel started in a voice low enough to convey his patience was slipping. "You have not yet broken your blood bond with him, so you're the only one who can give an exact location. The best I could do would probably be to find what city he's in."   
  
Edge nodded again, shivering but forcing himself to fight back against the terrified wave of emotions. "I-I think I have him. I can't tell where he is, but he's close. He's...He's on a floor...he's a mess. He's crying and-and shaking and..." He trailed off, shaking his head and refusing to go on with that particular line of thought. "It looks like an apartment. There's two women there. One of 'em's looking in a mirror. She's a blonde. She's -- wait, she's turning her head. She's got...bite marks..." His eyes flew open again, and he was more than surprised to see Gangrel's were was wide as his own. "Gangrel..."   
  
"You told him never to feed from another vampire, didn't you? Edge, oh God, please tell me you told him . . ."   
  
"I never thought about it! I-I..."   
  
Gangrel dropped his head into his hands. This was going to be a long, terrible night. 


	13. 12

"God help me, God help me, God help me..."   
  
Despite his quiet chanting, the steadily growing cold ball of dread in the pit of his stomach told Christian that God likely had nothing to do with his current predicament.   
  
He was barely aware of movement off to his left, and try as he might to lift his head to get a better look, he was just too weary to accomplish something that would require so much effort. That being the case, he let his eyes drift shut and focused on the cool floor tiling beneath his cheek, letting it lull him into the closest thing to security that he'd felt in hours.   
  
When he opened his eyes again, he was shocked to find that at some point he'd been moved off the floor and into a huge room elaborately furnished with heavy velvet drapes and antique furniture arranged against the walls. Some woman -- Rachel, he remembered after a puzzled moment -- was brushing her hair, not at all concerned with her awakened guest. Christian used that to his advantage and summoned all the strength he thought he could gather, launching himself off the bed and barreling into Rachel's back, sending them both tumbling to the floor. She cried out and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking hard enough to pull several strands loose. Too enraged to care, he wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed. His attempt to strangle her might have been successful had she not brought her knees up beneath him and then kicked him off. He grabbed onto the bedpost at the foot of the bed, wheezing and grasping his chest even though his mind subconsciously told him he had no need to breathe anymore.   
  
"Stupid brat," Rachel seethed, rubbing her neck and glaring at Christian. "Stupid, helpless, *weak* brat," she continued angrily, eyes narrowed. "You can't even attack someone the right way."  
  
"Why...are you doing this?"   
  
Before she could answer, the window directly behind her shattered and a shower of tiny glass shards rained into the room, followed directly by the unlikely Batman and Robin combination in Gangrel and Edge. Blinded by a sudden, intense rage, Edge attacked Rachel and tackled her much the same way his brother had just done, while Gangrel made his way over to Christian and pulled him to his feet, then began pushing him towards the door that Christian didn't remember seeing before.   
  
"We have to leave now, little one," he pointed out needlessly, opening the door for Christian and gesturing out into the hallway. "Go on."   
  
"But --"   
  
An ear-splitting scream rang out, and Christian turned just in time to see Edge fall first to his knees, then completely to the floor, a splintered, broken piece of wood jutting out from his chest. He tried vainly to grasp it and pull it out, but Rachel standing over him, smiling and kicking it further into his body, was more than he could stand.   
  
"No!" Christian screamed, making a desperate attempt to dive back into the fray and somehow save his brother. Gangrel held him back, essentially dragging him out the door and down the hallway, the stairs, another hallway, not stopping until they reached the outside of the building. Christian was by then in hysterics, demanding to go back and get Edge, to see to it that Rachel paid for her actions, babbling about anything that came to mind. All Gangrel did was sit and stare up at the broken window, mumbling something that Christian couldn't quite hear.   
  
Blinking once, then twice, Christian looked through blurry eyes, surprised to find that he was still in the apartment. Nothing had been broken, and he was still on the floor; the only thing that had changed, it seemed, was that his head was now in someone's lap, and after a moment he noticed long black nails raking through his hair, stroking gently.   
  
"Well, sleeping beauty's up," Rachel commented dryly from her spot in a chair directly across from Christian. She grinned, wiggled her fingers at him, and took another drink from the can of diet Pepsi in her hand. She studied him closely for a few tense seconds, then slid out of the chair and into the floor in front of him. "I was just wondering what you think about when you're out of it."   
  
"Rachel," Christian heard another voice plead with a tired tone, "leave him alone. You've made your point."   
  
"No, I don't think I have," Rachel corrected sharply, reaching out and grabbing a handful of Christian's hair, yanking his head up harshly enough to make him cry out in startled pain. "You wanna hear a little story, sweetheart?"   
  
Christian tried to make his mouth work, tried to tell her he wanted very little to do with her *and* her story, but for whatever reason he couldn't quite seem to get his words to come out. That left him unable to express himself, and left Rachel free to assume he had no objections to her narrating for him.   
  
"Well, once upon a time there was a prince and his princess. That princess, by the way, was yours truly. The prince was a guy who didn't exactly like playing by the rules, but he didn't hurt anyone because of his ... rebellious nature, not really. But the mean higher-ups of the kingdom decided that he was too dangerous, too much of a 'risk' to keep around. They tried to break him." Her voice cracked, forcing her to stop and take a deep breath before continuing. "So they took everything he had away from him. And then, finally, when they couldn't take anything else, they took his life and left his princess alone. One day, years and years later, the princess goes to a sleazy bar and sees someone very closely connected to the person mostly responsible for killing her prince, and the chance to kick him around is just too good to pass up."   
  
"Rachel, stop it."   
  
"Fuck off, Gwen, I'm having fun." She sneered cruelly, leaning forward and letting her breath fall in hot waves across Christian's face. "Your precious Gangrel killed my mate just because they didn't see things exactly the same way. I will *never* forgive him for that. Ever. You know why, Chrissy?" Christian flinched at the name but remained quiet. "Because I am one seriously pissed off princess."   
  
She rose to her feet and stalked off out of view, out of the bedroom and, judging from the sounds following, into the kitchen. Christian allowed his eyes to drift shut again, praying for nothing more than sleep to claim him, but something wet and smooth was suddenly pressed to his lips.   
  
"Drink," Gwenia urged, tilting the glass in her hand up slightly. Christian reluctantly drew in a tiny sip of the liquid, recognized it was water, and thirstily accepted the offering. The glass was downed rapidly before he dropped his head back down into Gwenia's waiting lap. She hesitated for a brief instant before continuing to thread her nails through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in hopes of calming his vicious trembling.   
  
"I'm gonna get you outta here," she whispered, barely audible. "I don't know how yet, but I'm gonna try. Rachel's lost it, and I really don't need or want Gangrel beating me into the next few centuries for this." She paused, snorting to herself when she realized that Christian was probably so far out of it he couldn't understand a thing she said anyway.   
  
Before she could go on Rachel walked back into the room, carrying a duffel bag with her and tossing it onto the end of her bed. She caught Gwenia staring curiously at her and shrugged, offering no other explanation as she began throwing various articles of clothing into the bag.   
  
"Gangrel's gonna kill us," Gwenia pointed out quietly, desperately hoping she could force some sense into her friend. Rachel, however, just shook her head.   
  
"No he's not. He has to find us first."   
  
Gwenia rolled her eyes. "Like that's gonna take him so long. You have any idea how much more powerful than us he is? How do you intend on ..." She trailed off, cursing inwardly when Rachel pulled her car keys from her pocket and dangled them noisily from the end of her finger. "Rachel --"   
  
"Get your stuff together. You, me, and our guest are going on a road trip."   
  
******  
  
"Why can't I sense him? Goddammit, I wanna know why I can't fucking feel him!"   
  
Kick. Kick, kick, punch to the dashboard. Kick again.   
  
Gangrel sighed and leaned down slightly, just enough to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. "Edge, lad, I understand you're upset, and I can sympathize with you, but if you don't stop trying to kill the car I'm going to have to tie you to your seat. It's a rental."   
  
"I don't care if it's a fucking rental!" Edge shrieked, kicking the floorboard for good measure. "I wanna know why I can't get through to my own fucking brother!"   
  
"When did you get such a colorful vocabulary?" Gangrel asked more to himself than anyone. He turned his attention to the windshield, looking out disinterestedly as people scurried through the parking lot to avoid the rain. The past several minutes had been spent in McDonald's parking lot, Gangrel drinking a cup of coffee and trying to kill the headache he was getting because Edge was quickly losing what little patience he had, both with himself and the world in general.   
  
They'd been traveling all around Minneapolis, it seemed, since late the previous night, using Edge's bond with his brother as something of a honing device. So far, the only thing they'd managed to accomplish was getting frustrated with each other and driving in circles.   
  
"Edge," Gangrel tried again, finishing his coffee and then setting the styrofoam in the cup holder built into the armrest, "you have to remember what he's going through right now. Like I said before, your fear is feeding off of his and the other way around, so the more anxious and agitated you get, the more it effects him. So if you wouldn't mind me being blunt for a second, please shut up and pull yourself back together. When you're sane and not so utterly annoying, we'll try looking again."   
  
Edge blinked at Gangrel, unconsciously bared a pair of sharp fangs that reflected in Gangrel's dark sunglasses, but kept his comments to himself. Instead of starting another argument, he leaned back in his seat and rubbed at his eyes. Being for all intents and purposes as dead as a man in his grave, he'd discovered long ago he really had no need to sleep anymore, but he'd gotten into a habit of sleeping at night and taking short naps through the day. Given it had been nearly two days since the last time he'd been able to get a decent amount of sleep, his nerves were shot and it was obviously beginning to show. He'd been practically biting Gangrel's head off the entire morning, save for unpredictable bouts of anguished sobbing.   
  
He knew he had to stay calm, both for his sake and his brother's, but every time he thought he had himself under control Christian's emotions would suddenly and very forcefully present themselves in a wave of confused terror that crushed around Edge's mind to the point he couldn't ignore Christian's frightened misery. At times he would break down into helpless tears, and then at others go into a fit of rage that often manifested itself in the form of beating anything in sight.   
  
Then, of course, there was the added pressure of not being able to feel his brother's presence as he knew he should have been. It was the not knowing, the worrying about exactly what could cause that block between them, that was twisting Edge's already frazzled nerves into cruel mockeries of their former selves. Unfortunately, he had done nothing but take out those frustrations on Gangrel, who was quickly growing tired of the treatment.   
  
"Okay."   
  
Gangrel arched his eyebrows, staring uncertainly at his companion. "Okay what? Are you ready to calm down and act like a partially stable adult again?"   
  
Pointedly ignoring the remark, Edge folded his hands in his lap to keep from ripping something apart, then simply nodded. "Yes. Now go. They're moving."   
  
"Moving where?"   
  
"How the hell should I know? I'm not a fucking honing pidgeon!" Edge snapped irritably, shaking his head in slight disgust and causing hair to fall down into his face, hair he made no effort to move.   
  
"I'm tempted to stick a bar of soap in your mouth, boy."   
  
"And I'm tempted to stick my foot up your ass, now drive. Left. And go a little faster while you're at it, would ya? My grandma could drive faster than this."   
  
"I'm a little busy trying to keep from ripping your heart out through your nostrils, Edge. I need my patience in one piece and dealing with rush hour metropolitan traffic is not going to make me any friendlier, now sit over there and shut your blasted mouth unless you have something helpful to contribute to our little treasure hunt."   
  
Edge fell silent and took to staring out the window. 


End file.
